


The Prince and the Bodyguard

by Toomanyfandoms99



Series: The Prince and the Bodyguard ‘Verse [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Alderaan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Luke and Leia Switched, Angst and Fluff, Assassination attempts, Bespin, Bodyguard Ezra Bridger, Chases, Childhood Friends, Clone Wars, Cloud City, Coruscant, Courtship, Cute, Death Star, Drama, Dreams, Endor, Ewoks (Star Wars), F/M, Family Dinners, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Ghost(s), Force Lightning, Friends to Lovers, Galactic Senate, Garel, Happy Ending, Heist, Hoth, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Jabba’s Palace, Jedi Temple, Kidnapping, Lightsaber Battles, Lightsabers, Lothal, M/M, Marriage, Millennium Falcon - Freeform, Movie: Star Wars: A New Hope, Movie: Star Wars: Attack of the Clones, Movie: Star Wars: Return of the Jedi, Movie: Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Movie: Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, Movie: Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, Naboo - Freeform, Not Canon Compliant, OC, Pregnancy, Prince Luke Skywalker, Purrgil - Freeform, Rebellion, Tatooine, The Force, Time Skips, Unplanned Pregnancy, Varykino (Star Wars), Visions, X-Wing(s), Yavin 4, dagobah, false identities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:33:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 99,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22633573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toomanyfandoms99/pseuds/Toomanyfandoms99
Summary: Bail is unsure why he’s being told this, but he is intrigued.  “Where is the boy now?”“Here,” Mon smiles, “on this base, being cared for by Shara Bey and Kes Dameron.”Bail nods upon recognizing the names.  Shara is their best pilot, and Kes is their best combat leader.“However,” Mon states, “they cannot care for the boy full-time.  There is something...unique about him.  Something you are more equipped to handle.”Bail narrows his eyes.  “What?”“Ezra Bridger is Force-sensitive,” Mon reveals.Bail leans back in his chair and blinks once.  “I see…”“If your son is anything like his true parents,” Mon says, “he will soon require guidance.  This boy also requires that guidance.”“So,” Bail says, “you want me to shield them both from the Empire.  Get them a...teacher.”
Relationships: Bail Organa/Breha Organa, Ezra Bridger/Luke Skywalker, Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla, Leia Organa/Han Solo, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Shara Bey/Kes Dameron
Series: The Prince and the Bodyguard ‘Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1757050
Comments: 135
Kudos: 268





	1. Age 7

**Author's Note:**

> This entire fic is inspired by the “How the Other Half Lives” series.

Bail Organa knocks on the door to Mon Mothma’s office. The chime resounds from inside the spacious room. He hears a discussion occurring from behind the plasteel, so he waits a moment.

The new Rebel base bustles with activity, officers skirting past his looming form in the hallway. Crates that are sealed shut are scattered all around walkways. Every once in a while, an officer appears with a crowbar to crack a specific crate open and empty its bagged contents.

The Atollon base is just getting set up, and it is the most risky planet they’ve lived on. It is too close to Lothal and Garel for comfort. Imperial rule is rampant across this entire sector, with citizen revolts taking place almost monthly. 

These rebellions, though, are always quashed. And that is why they are here: to turn the tide.

The door slides open, and three Colonels that Bail knows vaguely exit. Bail allows them space to brush past him, sending each a nod.

He looks inside the office, and Mon rises to her feet. “Senator,” she says with a rare smile, “I apologize for the wait. Please come inside.”

Bail enters the room and the door hisses closed behind him. He advances to the ashen-hued desk and sits in a cushioned chair.

Mon sits as well, and she says, “it is good to see you back. I know the Empire has been watching you closely with a certain birthday arriving.”

Bail hums. “It’s troublesome, indeed. It sets Breha especially on edge.”

“I’m afraid,” Mon hesitates, looking at a holo screen, “I have to ask you to do something highly dangerous.”

“Why else would I be here?” Bail says with a light smile.

“But first, I must ask,” Mon pauses, “how old is your son?”

Bail furrows his brows. “Seven, going on eight. Why?”

Mon glances at the datapad. “Perfect. This will work perfectly.”

“I...do not follow.”

Mon presses her datapad, bringing up a holographic file of a birth record. Strangely enough, it has no holo photo inside the file.

“This,” Mon says, “is Ezra Bridger. He was born on the very first Empire Day on Lothal.”

Bail reads that he is due to turn eight years old two days before his own adopted son turns eight.

“We found him on a Rebel shuttle leaving Lothal three standard days ago,” Mon says. “He somehow evaded Imperial and Rebel detection, using the aftermath of the Lothal Siege as cover. But this was for a good reason.”

Mon swipes the screen, bringing up two more files. Ezra Bridger’s parents.

“The boy’s parents, Mira and Ephraim, were declared dead during the Siege,” Mon says sadly. “They were reportedly freedom fighters. The Rebellion meant to make contact with them before they were killed.”

Bail is unsure why he’s being told this, but he is intrigued. “Where is the boy now?”

“Here,” Mon smiles, “on this base, being cared for by Shara Bey and Kes Dameron.”

Bail nods upon recognizing the names. Shara is their best pilot, and Kes is their best combat leader. 

“However,” Mon states, “they cannot care for the boy full-time. There is something...unique about him. Something you are more equipped to handle.”

Bail narrows his eyes. “What?”

“Ezra Bridger is Force-sensitive,” Mon reveals.

Bail leans back in his chair and blinks once. “I see…”

“If your son is anything like his true parents,” Mon says, “he will soon require guidance. This boy also requires that guidance.”

“So,” Bail says, “you want me to shield them both from the Empire. Get them a...teacher.”

Mon hums. She swipes the holo screen to reveal the file of an old friend.

Bail smiles. “You found her?”

“She found us,” Mon says. “One does not stumble upon Ahsoka Tano. She is the most skilled fugitive I’ve ever seen in action.”

“She has agreed to pledge herself to our cause?” Bail asks incredulously.

“I name-dropped you,” Mon admits, “and she is now ready to serve.”

Bail wonders, “what about Kenobi? Or Jarrus?”

“Kenobi is watching over the girl,” Mon says, “living as a hermit on Tatooine. He sends communications to update us on her whereabouts.”

“And Jarrus?” Bail asks. 

“He is indisposed at the moment,” Mon replies. “He is working with Syndulla and Orellios on a deep space assignment. He cannot be contacted for several more months.”

Bail frowns. “Do you really think Ahsoka can train them both?”

“If she is given access to your planet’s resources,” Mon says, “she will teach both boys how to conceal and control their abilities.”

“Ah,” Bail laughs shortly, “that’s what you want from me. You want me to take the boy to Alderaan to train alongside my son.”

Mon nods a single time. “I remember reading quite a bit about Jedi before the information was scrubbed. They trained in groups because isolation breeds fear.”

“And that fear leads to anger, which leads to hate,” Bail recites, “which leads to suffering, which leads to the Dark Side.” He sighs. “Where is Yoda, anyway?”

“Dagobah,” Mon says, “and largely unreachable.”

“Pity,” Bail mutters.

“Now,” Mon says, “I need an answer. This boy is an orphan. We can’t keep him in a war zone. He could live comfortably with you and your family on Alderaan. I have arranged cover stories that should avoid Imperial detection. Will you take him in with Tano?”

Bail crossed his arms. “It is my wife’s decision.”

-

In the safety of the box room provided for him, Bail holo calls his wife.

Breha Organa answers on the third chime. “Bail! Is everything alright?”

Bail wishes he can lie and say yes.

“The base is being set up,” Bail says, “I am safe. Are you well? How is Luke?”

“I’m alright. Luke is going above and beyond in his classes.” Breha asks, “why aren’t you answering me? What’s going on?”

Bail sighs, because he can hide nothing from his wife. “Mon is asking a massive favor from both of us. I do not know how you will react.”

“You won’t until you tell me,” Breha says.

Bail grimaces. “There is a boy,” he says measuredly, “with Luke’s powers. Mon wants us to protect him.”

“Is the boy important to the cause?” Breha asks carefully.

“It is a moral dilemma,” Bail says, “considering he is an orphan.”

“Oh,” Breha coos, “poor boy.” Her tone grows clipped. “Alderaan cares for all of its orphans, in one shelter or another. We have plenty of room for another boy. What makes you think I would reject such a plea?”

Bail gapes, and a small incredulous sound comes out. He shuts his mouth.

Breha surprises him every day with her generosity. No wonder she is Alderaan’s most beloved Queen in several generations.

And his love for her expands every time she opens her heart.

Bail swallows a lump in his throat. His voice comes out scratchy. “Of course you wouldn’t reject it. I am just…”

Breha scoffs before he can say the word. “Fill me in on the details before you return home. I hope the boy will be with you.”

“H-he will,” Bail decides. “Thank you, dear. I love you. Tell Luke good night from me.”

“I will.”

She does not say the well-worn phrase back when the communication link is cut. Bail snorts and smiles at her ferocity.

He hopes Luke turns out like Breha.

————

Ezra curls up in the small cot. The light gray blanket he was given by Kes has become his new best friend. He brought it everywhere, if everywhere counts the contents of the living space.

Since Kes and Shara are a married couple, they have more space than most officers in the Rebellion. When he was first ushered through the base, he observed through sliding doors how small the accommodations were for anyone with blue dots on their arms. When he passed people with red dots on their arms, the rooms were bigger.

The contents of the living space is three rooms in total. A place to watch the holo screen, an area to cook, two bedrooms, and a fresher.

Ezra doesn’t think about how similar this room looks to his old home.

Shara and Kes are nice. Shara coaxes him to eat, which he does. Kes stays outside the fresher door while he bathes, and the reminder that he is there is comforting. They do not pressure him to speak when he does not answer a stray question.

Somehow, both of them understand. Ezra is grateful for that, and does his best to thank them. 

Ezra helps clean the rooms. He folds their Rebel uniforms and lays them out on the bedspread. He attempts to speak when Shara and Kes eat meals with him. 

He likes them both, but he does not want to get too attached.

Something seems strange. Something Ezra cannot place. It is a strong feeling.

The strangeness isn’t…bad, exactly. Just different.

Whenever Ezra isn’t performing for his audience of two, he is huddled in his blanket. Remaining in his room for hours when he is not needed, or when unsupervised for short time periods.

The blanket is the only thing that brings with it a familiar warmth. For a moment, he can almost forget the flames licking the stone walls of his house. He can recall the sound of his mother’s laughter as she cooked in the kitchen, or the scent of death sticks his father smoked outside.

It seems like it happened an eternity ago. Time is weird that way.

One night, though, something out of the ordinary occurs. Shara and Kes bring back a guest.

Ezra is wrapped in his blanket on the sea foam couch. He catches their arrival at a right angle.

He hugs the blanket tighter on instinct at the new face, gritting his teeth. He stares through the corner of his eyes as the man speaks amiably with Shara and Kes.

The man is so tall that it is a wonder he can pass through the sliding door. He wears a navy blue high-collared shirt, the material shiny and soft. His black belt secures gray slacks and a violet fur-lined pelt. The fur adorns his broad shoulders and falls down his muscled torso, reaching his waist. He wears no jewels of any kind, but the straightness in his posture makes Ezra believe he is important. The man’s skin is as tan as Ezra’s own, a mustache and goatee highlighting a strong jawline. His hair is slicked to the side, black like Ezra’s. His eyes are dark brown, but not unkind.

“Ezra,” Shara says with a sweet smile, “we have someone we want you to meet.”

Ezra shrinks into the couch a little as the strange man advances. Shara and Kes, though, remain close by.

The man kneels to his level. His smile is friendly and bright. “Hello, Ezra. I’m Bail Organa.”

Ezra blinks. The memory is blurry, but he swears he’s heard the name before. Perhaps on his mother’s broken news holo.

His voice is quiet. “Do you talk on the news?”

Bail chuckles, eyes shining with amusement. “I give speeches on the news. I am surprised you know.”

Ezra cannot force himself to smile meekly. His blanket is still clutched tight around his skinny body.

“I came by because I have an offer for you,” Bail says. “An offer to have a good home.”

“This is a good home,” Ezra says hollowly.

He is right on his intuition. He is glad he does not get too attached to Shara and Kes. They are sweet, but Ezra feels weird on this base. It is too dangerous.

Bail’s smile falls. “I’m afraid you’re not safe here. Did you notice that there are no children here?”

Ezra purses his lips. His grip on the blanket loosens. He looks at his lap.

“Better than Lothal,” he says bitterly.

“Well,” Bail murmurs, “I can do you one better than this base. How about a palace?”

Ezra is unmoved. It is almost unreal. He thinks back to the holo stories his father used to read to him. “Does that make you...a king?”

“I am,” Bail says lightly.

Ezra’s eyes snap back to Bail’s face. “Are you a good king, or a bad king?”

Bail is silent, eyes wide. He studies Ezra carefully, thinking for a moment. Ezra waits.

Bail finally answers, “I am a good king masquerading as a bad king.”

Deep in his heart, Ezra knows Bail is telling the truth.

Ezra hums. “You work for the Rebellion as an Imperial king?”

Bail nods curtly. 

“Why should I go with you?” Ezra inquires.

At this, Bail looks at Shara and Kes. They shake their heads at a silent question.

Bail turns back to Ezra and smiles. “I have a son who is your age. His name is Luke. My wife Breha, as well, is more than happy to care for another lost soul. That is the creed of Alderaan: to care for those who need help.”

Ezra glances at Shara and Kes. They smile and nod encouragingly.

He trusts them.

Ezra looks back at Bail. He can’t find a reason, when staring at him closer, to be apprehensive. 

He just knows he will be alright. 

Ezra promises, “I won’t be any trouble.”

Bail smiles. “Oh, I know you won’t be.”

-

The Tantive IV is the largest starship Ezra has ever seen. It is a white exterior lined with golden stripes at each room juncture. The cargo area is filled with crates of Rebel contraband, a spacious living room and multiple crew bedrooms taking up the cavernous middle. The trapezoidal front of the ship is a cockpit piloted by multiple Alderaanian officers wearing maroon and pearl, the official colors of their home planet.

After sincerely thanking Shara and Kes for their kindness, they waved goodbye as he walked up the ship platform. He only had the oversized orange Rebel uniform on his back and a bag containing Kes’s gray blanket, a necklace Shara made, and a holo of his parents.

Bail guided him through the alabaster interior as his crew members respectfully nodded in his direction. Their gazes sweep past Ezra, and the ones he look at closer are compassionate.

Bail ushers him into the cockpit and tells him to buckle up. The head pilot turns in his seat and smiles.

“Hello there,” he says, “I’m Raymus Antilles, the pilot for His Highness. Would you like to help me fly?”

Ezra’s eyes widen. He can’t help but utter an excited, “yeah!”

Raymus laughs and says, “come stand by me. I’ll teach you about the switchboard.”

Ezra rises from his seat and stands by the pilot’s chair. He happily allows Raymus to explain each button’s function.

————

It is dusk when the Tantive IV lands. Breha Organa hears the telltale engine. She runs a brush through her brunette curls and rises from her vanity. She knew they would return tonight, so she had not changed into her nightgown. Her navy velvet dress is casual enough for the occasion, with black lace sleeves sewn on to account for the breezy weather.

Breha gathers her hair over one shoulder as she exits the master bedroom. Two guards posted at their ivory double doors incline their heads in respect. She sends them a wan smile as the door across from hers opens.

Winter Celchu exits in her handmaiden silver gown, covering her from neck to ankle. Her metal-strapped sandals clack against the white marble tile. 

At only thirteen, Winter has become the best handmaiden Breha could ask for, as well as the best operative. While her platinum blonde hair receives curious looks, she has the ability to blend into her surroundings and eavesdrop on Imperial conversations. With Empire Day looming around the corner, Winter’s training is invaluable.

Winter glances over Breha’s person concernedly and falls into step beside her. Guards lower their heads as they glide towards the palace’s private hangar bay.

“How are you this evening, ma’am?” Winter asks cordially.

“I am well, dear,” Breha answers easily.

“If I may,” Winter says, “I want to ask what is so important about tonight.”

Breha replies, “we are adopting Bail’s relative that is Luke’s age. We thought it best Luke has a companion that he can trust no matter what.”

Stormtroopers linger inside the kitchens, the sound of their vocoders inquiring about foods to be heard from behind the doors. Breha and Winter do not miss a bound as they pass the area.

“That is very wise, Your Majesty,” Winter says, “especially in these…times.”

Breha clears her throat quietly, and Winter nearly flinches. She knows she has spoken out of turn. She ducks her head in apology as they reach the hanger.

The four guards posted at the bay doors open them upon seeing Breha beside Winter.

The double doors inch away from each other, revealing the Tantive IV docked on a rectangular platform. The ceiling doors had shut, enclosing the hanger bay in dim lighting. The walkway to the docking area illuminates to guide them.

Breha and Winter gather their long skirts and glide down the walkway. The ramp to the ship has just opened, and it was being secured by crew members. Breha can only thank the mountain gods that the stormtroopers are preoccupied.

As they reach the ramp, the crew members stand ramrod straight. Raymus Antilles descends the platform and says respectfully, “good evening, Your Majesty. We had a very safe journey.”

“Wonderful,” Breha says with a smile. “Thank you for caring for my husband.”

“It is an honor,” Raymus says, stepping so he is beside the crew. He clasps his hands behind his back as two figures descend the ramp.

Bail and the boy look so alike that it takes Breha aback. Bail commed her during the long journey in hyperspace, so she knew the cover the boy would have for Imperials.

The boy is named Ezra Bridger, but he would be known as Dante Organa, a distant relative of Bail’s that requested to train as a guard. Since guard training began when boys were young, Ezra’s presence into the program would not be questioned.

And due to his physical appearance, no one would question Ezra’s relation to Bail.

Ezra has darker skin, the same bronze shade as Bail’s. Their hair is the same thickness and black-blue color. His shoulders, Breha guessed, would broaden when Ezra began physical training. His form would be as looming and muscled as Bail’s in a few years. 

The only notable differences were Ezra’s unusual eye color and wide nose. It is odd for an Alderaanian to have such striking blue eyes, but something contained within them reminds Breha of Luke. 

If they were both Force sensitive, then they would have more than eye color in common.

Ezra was supposedly briefed on the way to Alderaan about the name change. He was assured it was to keep him safe from the Empire. When he was in public and in guard training, he was Dante Organa. When one of the three Organa family members spoke with him alone, he was Ezra Bridger.

Bail places a light hand on Ezra’s shoulder as he is ushered down to Breha and Winter. The boy kept his head slightly lowered, his lashes batting shyly at the two women. His other shoulder carries a bag of his meager belongings, which Breha expected Ezra would be attached to until he got comfortable there.

“Milady,” Bail says with a head bow to Breha, “this is Dante.”

“Oh,” Breha smiles, careful of Winter’s obliviousness to their cover story, “you are most definitely an Organa, Dante.”

It is the boy’s first test, and he passes by bowing his head accordingly. “It is an honor to meet you, Your Majesty. I thank you for the opportunity to study here.”

“It is no problem at all,” Breha smiles tightly on purpose, and clearly Ezra understood the veiled intricacy to it.

He is far more intuitive than he thinks. A valuable tool, indeed.

“And this is Winter Celchu,” Bail says to Ezra, “Her Majesty’s handmaiden.”

Ezra bows his head again. “Ma’am.”

Winter smiles coolly, then says to Bail, “we are glad of your swift return.”

“As am I,” Bail says. 

Breha then ushers the group inside the palace. Winter guides them to an alternate route, which Bail smartly picks up on and says nothing about. He knows stormtroopers are lurking in the halls of his home.

Ezra is quietly brought into one of the lower rooms meant for servants and guards. Ezra assures them that he does not need much and will not be much trouble. Breha caught herself before she could frown at him.

She would have to teach him that he is not meant to be a burden.

They bid him sweet dreams in his new room. Breha quickly sends Winter to her own room to sleep. 

She spends the night discussing next steps with Bail.

————

Ezra hears the sound of echoing music as he lays in bed. The keys are distant, but he thinks it comes from a piano. He heard a piano being played once when he went to a diner with his parents.

He peels back the maroon duvet and gets to his feet. He flicks on a light and the door opens as he reaches it. In his new crimson pajamas, he enters the illuminated hallway.

It is eerily silent with only one guard posted at each hallway. The guard does not acknowledge his presence, or force him to return to his room. Ezra cannot help but smile as he follows the music.

He does not have to go much further until he enters a massive chamber. It is clearly meant for parties and formal gatherings, because the walls are varnished with carved decor. Scenes depicting the mountains Ezra glimpsed all over the planet were on the left side of the chamber, while the right side was adorned with framed paintings of the Organa royal bloodline. He saw the latest addition near the entrance of a composed Bail standing beside Breha, with a small boy in the middle.

The very same boy who sits on a piano bench in the middle of the chamber. 

The full moon from an arched window casts light across him. His golden hair is cast in silvery light. His skin is shadowed by soft moon dust. His pajamas are steel blue silk, shining on his small form. His fingers press delicately against each key, playing a composition that sounds high class.

Ezra hesitantly enters the room, socked feet sliding a little on the marble floor. He hugs himself as he passes through the shadows.

The boy’s profile turns, and he smiles. He lifts his fingers away from the piano keys, setting both hands in his lap properly.

“You must be Ezra,” he says, his voice as soft and sweet as a birdsong. “I’m Luke Organa. And don’t worry,” he leans forward and whispers, “I know your other name is Dante.”

Ezra halts when he is a pace away from the piano bench. Luke has smooth pale skin, an angular jawline, and eyes the color of moonlight. He had a delicate button nose and long eyelashes. His stature was smaller and skinnier than expected.

Ezra’s mouth twitches upwards on one side nervously. His voice comes out as a breathless exhale. “Hello, Prince Luke.”

“Call me Luke when we’re alone,” Luke murmurs. “There’s no need to worry now.” He scoots over on the piano bench. “You can sit with me.”

As if under an enchantment, Ezra sits down thoughtlessly next to Luke. 

“Um,” Ezra asks softly, “may I ask-”

“I am adopted, yes,” Luke answers lightly, as if plucking the words from Ezra’s mind and verbalizing them.

“Wow,” Ezra breathes, “they really are good people.”

Luke smiles sweetly. “I never knew my parents. I wish I could tell you I am sorry about yours,” he looks away, “but I cannot understand your loss.”

Ezra stares at the boy who speaks a language he cannot define, but it is one his mind knows. He has never encountered such a person before. 

He is mesmerized.

“I,” Ezra swallows a lump in his throat, “thank you.”

Luke pats his hand very quickly before it rests in his lap. Ezra feels a slight wave of warmth tingle on his skin.

“This is a lovely planet,” Luke reassures him, “and even though you’re meant to be my guard, I’m sure we’ll be great friends.”

Ezra feels a warmth expand in his chest and spread through his entire body. More than anything, that is what he wants.

He grins. “I’m sure too.”


	2. Age 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Empire Day celebrations are boisterous throughout the palace and outside of the property. Bail and Breha had to oversee every detail of the Empire’s meticulously-planned events. 
> 
> Not even Luke could join him in the basement for a semblance of comfort. As a young prince, it is Luke’s duty to wear a stuffy outfit and follow his parents everywhere.
> 
> Or at least that was the plan. Until Luke went off-book during a formal evening party in the piano chamber.

Ezra hides in the servant’s quarters with the other palace employees. It is Empire Day, and stepping outside the basement would bring danger.

Employees sit in haphazard bunk beds or mull about the secret confines, restless and nervous. It takes all of Ezra’s willpower not to punch out the security locks on the door.

As the youngest palace member, he garnered no small amount of attention. Whilst curled up in his gray blanket on a bunk, someone asked him approximately once every five minutes if he needed anything.

It is sweet that so many people care about him, but Ezra is still too nervous to do more than shake his head or say a meek “no, thank you.”

He has to keep his guard up, anyway, even here. To them, he is a distant member of the Organa royal bloodline. To them, he is Dante.

Empire Day celebrations are boisterous throughout the palace and outside of the property. Bail and Breha had to oversee every detail of the Empire’s meticulously-planned events. 

Not even Luke could join him in the basement for a semblance of comfort. As a young prince, it is Luke’s duty to wear a stuffy outfit and follow his parents everywhere.

Or at least that was the plan. Until Luke went off-book during a formal evening party in the piano chamber.

Luke does the secret knock, and one of the head cooks let the prince inside with a surprised exclamation.

Luke places a finger to his lips and the cook closes the door. He sends a bright grin to the employees.

“Hi, everyone.” Luke softens his voice, effectively charming the adults. “I wanted to see how everyone is doing.”

“Oh, sweet boy,” a waitress cooed.

“We’re fine, dear,” his etiquette teacher promises.

Luke’s gaze affixes to Ezra, and he advances towards the low bunk bed. Every eye in the room watches as he kneels to Ezra’s level.

The background gasps are not lost on Ezra. It is unusual for a prince to lower himself. To anyone.

Luke whispers, “I promise it’ll be over soon. This only happens once a year. Are you alright?”

Ezra leans forward from his crisscrossed position on the mattress. He has not seen Luke since the early hours of the morning, when he wore his silver pajamas and helped arrange flower vases with the caretaker.

Now, Luke wears a crimson tunic and matching slacks. A white vest brought out the slight tan pallor to his skin tone. A silver circlet adorned with a single ruby perched on his golden head.

“I am alright, Your Highness,” Ezra murmurs gently, the stares getting to him a little. He blushes on instinct and bows his head, even though Luke was an inch lower than him from kneeling.

“Good.” Luke takes something out of his pocket. His open palm reveals a stolen chocolate truffle. 

Ezra stares at it incredulously.

“A gift,” Luke chirps. Aware of the crowd behind them, he mouths, ‘happy birthday.’

Ezra’s heart skips. He almost forgot it is his birthday.

He smiles wanly. He does not look at their audience as he plucks the truffle from Luke’s hand without touching him. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Luke nearly giggles, giving himself away. He schools his expression with a discreet throat clear. 

Ezra pops the chocolate in his mouth as Luke rises to his feet. When he turns around, the employees pretend they are conversing amongst themselves.

Luke smiles brightly. “I must return to my father’s side. Have a good night, everyone.”

Ezra’s face burns as Luke receives the same greeting with the tacked on “Your Highness.” Ezra chews the chocolate, which is the best piece he’s ever tasted, as the door shuts behind Luke.

Ezra overhears remarks like “what a sweet boy” and “he’s going to be a better king than his father.”

-

Ezra busies himself around the palace the day after celebrations. It is a major clean-up as Imperial forces march out of the palace. He disguises himself as a sweeper boy, and not a single stormtrooper verbally remarks on his presence.

He has gained the favor of most of the palace staff by helping out when he can. His guard training does not start for a week, so he sought out ways to be useful. 

So far, he had swept most of the palace chambers, thereby forming a mental map. He helped fold uniforms for the workers and guards, much to the relief of the maids, who were impressed with his technique. He observed the cooks in the kitchens, and was certain he can make uncomplicated dishes with little supervision. He learned how to arrange flowers and change bed sheets from the head caretaker. 

The caretaker, Riza, told Ezra that Luke enjoyed picking out flowers to decorate the many palace rooms. Ezra hoped that their paths would cross in this way, but Luke had classes to take up his time.

Ezra was allowed to attend classes with Luke one day. The experience was enlightening. He didn’t know there were so many different forks and knives. Or that there were rules for sitting.

Princes had too many rules, Ezra decided. He was glad he wasn’t one; he would mess up too much. 

It was better for Alderaan, anyway, that Luke was their prince. He accomplished tasks with such grace and poise that Ezra was left speechless. It all came so easily to Luke.

Ezra wouldn’t say he was envious of that, but he was relieved he was not held up to the same high standards.

As Ezra swept up the piano chamber, familiar rushed footsteps enter the room. “Ezra!”

Luke laughs delightfully as he runs inside the chamber. His laughter is a melody echoing throughout the chamber.

“I’m free from my classes!” Luke declares, splaying out his arms and throwing his head back in laughter.

“I see that,” Ezra says amusedly, using the broom to straighten his posture.

“And I see,” Luke trudges into the room, wearing a pearly dress shirt and casual black overalls, “that you picked flowers with Riza.”

Ezra looked away, flustered. “Did I overstep?”

“Just the opposite!” Luke assures him, eyes sparkling as he bounces rather close to Ezra. “I am glad you take an interest. You even picked my favorite flower!”

Ezra was indeed dazzled by the indoor gardens on the west side of the palace. A particular flower native to the planet captured his attention, so it was placed prominently in every arrangement.

“Flame lilies?” Ezra recalls.

Luke beams. “They’re unique, aren’t they? The petals protect the pistil like a shell. There’s no other flower on Alderaan that does that!”

Ezra grips the broomstick and uses the bristles to hold himself up. He smiles nervously.

“That’s what I will be doing,” Ezra observes.

Luke pinches his brows together. His eyes squint into a celestial almond. “What?”

The window behind Luke’s back illuminates his silhouette. Sunlight sets his golden hair and skin alight. His smile is blinding.

“I’m the shell protecting the pistil,” Ezra says lightly, “which is you.”

Luke’s smile falls. “You see this as a job.”

“No!” Ezra blurts, shaking his head profusely. “Friends first.”

“Yeah?” Luke’s eyes widen with hopefulness.

“Of course!” Ezra’s eyes beseech him. “I am grateful for everything that has been given to me, but that isn’t why I like you. I like you because you care about people.” His mind flickers to bad memories, but he shuts them down before they form. “Not everyone cares about people.”

Luke inclines his head in understanding. “That’s why I hope the Empire is destroyed.”

Ezra blinks, then looks around for fear of listeners. He knows what happens when the wrong person hears such a remark. 

They get executed. Like his parents.

“Don’t worry,” Luke whispers teasingly, “there’s no bugs.”

“Bugs?” Ezra prompts confusedly.

“Little microphones,” Luke replies, pinching his fingers together with barely space between them, “that the Empire uses to spy. There aren’t any.”

Ezra’s brows raise. “I don’t think we’re supposed to know about that.”

Luke winks, dimples prominent in his mischievous smile. “I know.”

Ezra realizes that it’s going to be difficult to guard Luke Organa if he was so slippery. He would have to rise to the occasion.

“Well,” Luke whirls around and skips, “put that broom away! Let’s goooo!”

Ezra chuckles and runs with Luke out of the room. He sets the broom in the closet outside the chamber.

————

Bail scrutinized the T-6 shuttle that landed in the palace’s private hangar bay. It is bright red with white stripes on the vertical wings. He is surprised the Empire did not flag it down at the outer planetary shields.

The platform retracts, and the engine whirrs as it shuts down. The ceiling doors close unceremoniously above them, containing the ship in a dimly-lit dome.

Air streams out the sides of the ramp. A familiar figure descends, and Bail smiles hopefully.

Ahsoka Tano has grown up since the end of the Clone Wars. He remembered her visits to the Senate with her Master when she was a teenager. She sought Padmé’s counsel when she was not on a mission with Anakin.

He absently wonders if she knew about their romance, or if she was as concealed from the marriage as the rest of the galaxy. He does not have the courage to ask.

The Togruta wears a smuggler’s outfit, and it looks beyond strange with her large patterned montrals. Her vest was her preferred maroon shade, but her pants, shirt, and boots were black. Her face had since hardened into that of a Jedi warrior, but her eyes sparkled when she saw him.

“Bail Organa,” Ahsoka strides down the ramp, “I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Same goes to you, Ahsoka,” Bail says. “I’m surprised you joined us.”

“That’s me,” she declares, “a big old surprise.” She pats his shoulder, and Bail realizes how tall she’s gotten. “I should tell you up front,” her eyes pierce through his, “it is imperative I go by Fulcrum.”

Bail inclines his head. “Mon told me. And it is just as imperative,” he counters, “that you call the Lothalian by the name Dante Organa.”

Ahsoka hums, then narrows her eyes. Bail knows Jedi can suss out lies, but she does not press for more information.

Ahsoka steps away from Bail and procures a bag containing her life. She casts it around one shoulder and offers a smile.

“Now,” she says, “tell me what I must know about the boys.”

Bail guides Ahsoka away from her personal shuttle and explains the plan.

————

Luke Organa is doted on for the start of his birthday. It begins when he wakes later than usual and he is not reprimanded for missing out on morning preparations. For Luke, that includes practicing the piano, greeting as many staff members as possible, and helping the head cook set up breakfast.

He wakes around the time he is normally performing the latter task in a groggy state. He panics, but he hears voices outside. He breathes loudly, then exhales deeply to calm the spike in his heart rate. As a result, the bedroom door opens.

“Honey,” Breha coos, advancing to the bed and kneeling down, “it’s alright.” She smiles, brushing back stray hairs falling into his eyes. “I think the birthday boy deserves a day to himself.”

Luke grins. It’s his birthday! He can be eight like Ezra!

Breha laughs and smooths out his sandy bangs. “We eagerly await your breakfast choice, birthday boy. What would you like?”

“Mocoa!” Luke exclaims, bouncing in his bed excitedly.

Breha places her hands on his wriggly sides to calm him, but he only laughs and beams wider. 

“Mocoa it is,” Breha says, rising from the bed. Luke practically flies out of bed to follow his mother.

When they enter the family room, Bail is already there. He shuts down his news holo and smiles at Luke.

His father holds out his arms, and Luke jumps into them. Bail is strong enough to plop him in his lap as they laugh.

“There’s my grown-up boy,” Bail says, pressing a kiss to Luke’s crown. Luke wriggles a little as he is coddled.

“Daaaad,” Luke whines, “stoooooop.”

Bail kisses his hair several times to make Luke squirm and smile.

Luke stops complaining when the cook arrives. Three giant cups of steaming mocoa are set at their places on the table.

Luke makes an excited noise undignified for a prince. “Thank you!” He chimes.

The cook smiles. “You’re welcome, Your Highness.”

He withdraws from the scene, and Bail sets Luke back on the ground. Luke climbs into his ivory chair and sits with proper posture. The silk of his pajamas slide a little on the cushion, but Luke imagines he is balanced on a delicate beam. His posture evens out accordingly.

Breha and Bail sit in their usual chairs. Bail at the head, Breha across from Luke on the sides. Bail sets the news holo away after a pointed look from Breha.

Luke smiles at the mocoa as the cooks bring toast and star blossoms as well. He waits until breakfast is over to dress in beige coveralls and search for Ezra. Since Luke was dismissed from lessons, he could do whatever he wanted inside the palace.

He starts in the piano chamber, but Ezra is not there. He goes to the kitchens, and Ezra is not there. He goes to the basement, but only receives greetings from the staff, which he responded to in kind.

The realization of where Ezra is smacks Luke in the face, and he runs.

The gardens are its very own vein built onto the palace. The lattice work on the domed glass roof let in maximum sunshine when it wasn’t raining or snowing. The arrangement of various plants is in a circular motion, with thin stone walkways on the north and south sides. Luke used to hop around the walkways like he was in a maze, or solving a puzzle to reach the centerpiece. The middle of the gardens, the final circle, is what housed Alderaanian flame lilies, his favorite flower.

In the center of the circle is Riza, bent over the flame lilies. Ezra plucks flowers delicately, engrossed in Riza’s explanation. The sunlight brings an extra layer of gold to Ezra’s darker skin, and his entire being seems to glow with contentment.

Luke cups his hands over his mouth. He calls out, voice traveling through the room, “Dante!”

The name causes Ezra’s head to snap in his direction. He is on alert for a beat, but his gaze settles on Luke. Despite Riza’s presence, he cracks a grin.

Ezra wants to say his name, it is on the tip of his tongue, but he lets his grin do the talking.

Luke advances, practically hopping atop each walkway as he slowly reaches the middle. He hears Ezra’s hesitant laugh as he finally enters the smallest circle.

Now that they are close, Luke beams. “Hi!”

Ezra holds a flame lily in his hand with light fingers. His eyes glitter in the sunlight reflecting from the domed window, reminding Luke of a glistening lake. Bronze plays across his face in shafts, and his wan smile is striking.

“Happy birthday, Your Highness,” Ezra says gently. “We meant to surprise you with vases of flame lilies.”

Luke is a melted puddle of snow inside. “Thank you,” he murmurs, “it is much appreciated.” He sends a smile to Riza, the slender brunette woman inclining her head.

Ezra delicately places the final flame lily in the gathered basket held by Riza.

The two boys look at one another and smile.

Riza makes an excuse about the flowers needing space to breathe, and the boys follow her out of the gardens.

Luke and Ezra later break away from Riza. Luke decides to enter the library, Ezra marveling at the room. There were still a few Ezra has yet to explore at the palace.

Ezra’s gaze sweeps over shelves packed floor to ceiling with knowledge.

“Do you recognize any?” Luke ponders to him aloud.

Ezra narrows his eyes and studies the color of each book. He squints and looks close to read the titles, and he stares a moment too long.

Somehow, by some cosmic force, this is all Luke needs to understand.

“Can you read, Ezra?” He asks softly.

Ezra steps back as if being electrocuted. He clenches his jaw and looks at his feet.

“Hey,” Luke goes to Ezra’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder, “I can teach you. It’s no big deal. Plenty of adults don’t know how to read.” He is rambling now, but he does not stop. “Our planet allows for every citizen to have a basic education, but more often than not, planets don’t have that law.”

Ezra swallows thickly. His eyes slide over to Luke’s. “You don’t have to teach me,” he says quietly, “it’s your birthday.”

Luke, not for the first time, wonders how Ezra became this way. He shouldn’t have to question everything or make himself seem smaller, as if he didn’t matter. A part of him wishes never to know, but he will have to be patient if Ezra confides in him about his past.

Breha and Bail taught Luke to be grateful every day for his privileges, and to lend a helping hand whenever possible.

Luke smiles. “It would be my honor to teach you.”

Ezra’s shoulders relax under Luke’s touch. Luke can feel the deep exhale reverberate through Ezra.

His eyes meet Luke’s hesitantly. “I can get frustrated sometimes.”

Luke nods. “Me too.”

After receiving a confirmation smile from Ezra, Luke grabs a book his father read to him as a bedtime story. Luke ushers him to the green velvet sofa in the middle of the library. They sit close together, and Luke explains the basics as best as he can. He watches Ezra concentrate incredibly hard as his finger shakily skirts past each word. His thick eyebrows pinch together and his eyes squint a little, which Luke found rather endearing. It was good to know how dedicated Ezra was once he began a task; he would always finish it.

They spend most of the afternoon this way, only getting interrupted by a maid saying dinner was almost ready. Luke shelves the old book and guides Ezra through the halls.

“You can eat with me and my parents,” Luke says as they round the corner. “You don’t have to eat with the cooks. You’re a part of the family.”

“I-I don’t mind it,” Ezra says shyly.

“I insist,” Luke says. “You are most welcome. Besides,” he whispers, “it’s stuffy in there without a friend.”

————

Ezra enters the family room a step behind Luke. Ezra has never been inside, but learned from the cooks that the royal family have breakfast and dinner there every day when they do not have guests. 

The family room is adorned with various foreign rugs, but the one underneath a varnished oak table is Alderaanian maroon and pearl. There is not a strain of marble in sight, this room being the only one that does not abide by the palace’s strict color and design scheme. The room is homely, clearly the place where the family of three bonded and spent time together without fear of prying eyes.

Luke inviting him here, within a sacred space, made Ezra’s insides warm. Ezra cannot pinpoint the feeling.

Bail enters the room from one side door, Breha from another. Bail ends a holo call, and Breha wears a different dress than the one Ezra glimpsed earlier that morning. Since both were maroon, though, he barely notices the difference.

The parents smile at Luke, then at Ezra.

Due to cooks and waiters sweeping about the room, decorating the table with gourmet foods, Luke uses Ezra’s other name.

“Dante has agreed to join us,” Luke announces to them.

“Oh, wonderful,” Breha says warmly, then addresses Ezra, “there’s plenty of room, dear.”

“Do take a seat across from Luke,” Bail says, pulling back a chair at the head. 

Bail ushers Breha into a seat and pushes her closer to the table. His gold-trimmed navy cape swishes as he sits at the other end of the table.

Luke’s fingers ghost his wrist as he says, “come on, over here.”

Those fingers close lightly around his skin, and Ezra swallows a lump in his throat to detract from the heat in his cheeks. He allows Luke to guide him to a seat, and watches Luke round the table to take the side across from him.

Ezra sits and practices good posture as he observed Luke in the one etiquette class he was permitted to attend. He has been practicing, so he does not think about the unusual straightness in his spine too much.

Luke smiles at him as food is piled on plates in front of them. The panoramic window, mostly covered by sheer curtains, manages to cast the sunset on Luke’s silhouette.

Ezra remembers to breathe.

Cooks disappear through side doors with silent footsteps. Silverware clatters, and cloth napkins go on laps. Ezra follows the cues effortlessly.

His mouth waters at the array of food steaming before him. He wants to cry. He has never had anything this good.

After Bail prays to the mountain gods, they eat a few bites. The meat melts in Ezra’s mouth, and he nearly whimpers.

It is Breha who asks, “how were your respective days?”

Luke glances at Ezra, and he nods, allowing Luke to speak for them both.

Luke says, “I taught Ezra how to read my favorite bedtime story.”

The message woven between the lines garners a quick pause. Bail and Breha look at each other, but not discreetly enough for Ezra not to notice.

“That’s lovely, dear,” Breha says breezily.

Ezra cannot help but feel like a failure nonetheless.

Bail catches Ezra’s slightly-bowed head as he tries a wedged meiloorun. It is by far the sweetest fruit in the galaxy, Ezra is sure.

“Any step forward is a step in the right direction,” Bail says lightly, garnering Ezra’s attention. “I recall throwing a book across the library in frustration when I could not learn as quickly as I had hoped.”

Ezra bites his lip before he can laugh at a king. The message, though, is comprehended and understood.

Luke has the liberty to exhale a chuckle. “I never knew that, Dad.”

The mirth, however, dies as they return to their food. Bail grows very serious at the flip of a switch.

“Boys,” Bail says, “today marks the end of an era.”

“Yeah,” Luke teases, “I’m eight. We get it.”

“That’s not what I meant, Luke,” Bail sighs.

“Bail,” Breha says, “I’m sure this can wait until tomorrow.”

Bail frowns at his wife across the table. “I’m afraid it can’t.”

Ezra studies the energy between them. The silence is palpable, and both wanted something very different. 

Luke frowns at his adoptive parents. Like Ezra, he glances between them to try and understand the invisible charge. “What’s going on?”

Breha cuts her meat, and Bail smooths out the cloth napkin on his lap.

Bail looks at Luke and Ezra in turn. “You are both in danger. There is something I have not told either of you that you should know.”

Ezra murmurs, “is it about the Empire?”

The mere mention of the galactic regime causes the Organas to fall silent. Ezra looks down and shrinks in his seat.

His food isn’t so appetizing anymore.

“As a matter of fact,” Bail replies, “it is, though not in the way you think.”

Ezra looks over at Bail curiously, as does Luke.

Bail explains, “before the Empire was in power, there were certain...beings that could...well, sense things that ordinary beings cannot. These beings could connect with the galaxy in a...very special way. They could harness the energy of life and use it for good.” He pauses, his fork being set down next to a half-finished plate. “In those times, unfortunately, there were also beings that used this power for evil. They founded the Empire, and these evil beings, special as they are, hunt down those who use their powers for good.” Bail clears his throat. “What I’m trying to say is...you are both special. You have a very special power, a wonderful power, that you were born with. This makes you a target for the Empire.” He glances over at Breha. “We took you both in because we want to protect you. Your power isn’t something that you should be afraid of. It simply needs to be kept hidden. And under control. To that end,” Bail concludes measuredly, “I have found a teacher that wants to help you conceal and control your powers. You will be taking secret lessons with her starting tomorrow evening. Is that understood?”

Ezra and Luke blink at each other. The information sinks in very slowly.

The magnetism between them...the familiarity they found in each other’s smiles…the way Luke touching Ezra’s wrist made something inside Ezra align...how they managed to become friends so quickly...how they somehow just...understood each other.

This is why all of those feelings occurred. They were special in the same way. To Ezra, it made far too much sense.

Luke, however, was having a harder time grasping the situation.

He stares at his silent mother, then at his father. His lips are pressed together in a thin line. He is so subdued that Ezra almost doesn’t recognize him.

Luke shouldn’t be so...muted.

“Are you ordering me to learn from this teacher?” Luke dares to ask. “Or do I have a choice?”

“Luke,” Bail says softly, a tone Ezra does not expect from such a tall figure, “what you have is not a burden. It is a gift. I can assure you of that completely. You will do beautiful things with your gift, if you listen to your teacher.”

Luke exhales through his nose deeply and looks at the table. It is a forest-colored cloth dotted with pearl doves, the official bird of Alderaan.

“Okay,” Luke says, “I can do this.”

He repeats it, as if to himself, for good measure. 

Ezra chooses not to dwell on it. His entire life just changed.

Again.


	3. Age 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra pops white boots on after changing and leaves the room last.
> 
> What he does not expect is for Luke to be waiting for him.
> 
> He wears a powder blue tunic fastened with a silver belt around the waist. His leggings are pearly white, and he stands with hands clasped in front of him.
> 
> Luke beams, and Ezra rushes towards him concernedly. The trainees are still close by, and they send Ezra strange looks behind the prince’s back.
> 
> “Is something wrong, Your Highness?” Ezra asks, studying Luke for a hint of trouble.

“Position one,” the guard trainer orders.

Ezra stands ramrod straight, the staff in his grip righted in a perfect angle. He does this with such ease now that it was almost unbelievable.

It made the older students jealous. Ezra blames it on his adaptability.

And the fact that Luke is not afraid to tell everyone that Ezra is destined to be his personal bodyguard. No one else.

“Position two,” the hardened trainer says.

He walks around as his ten students perform the task, studying them jut out the staff. If it is not in a forty-five degree angle, he hits the student’s thigh with his own staff. Not enough to hurt, but enough to get the message across.

‘When you are among the other seasoned guards,’ the teacher would say, ‘there is zero room for error.’

The teacher is satisfied by their performance after all ten positions are carried out with no mistakes.

“I think you have all learned teamwork today,” he announces. “You are not hopeless after all. You are dismissed.”

As soon as the teacher exits the training grounds, Ezra is swarmed. He is not surprised.

He does not fight back. He lets the leader of the pack bruise his thigh with a staff. Again. 

Besides, there’s not much else they can do without getting caught and reprimanded.

Ezra cannot use the Force, either. Concealment and control are his goals.

When the other students leave him to bend over and hiss in pain, he grits his teeth to distract himself. He stays in a strange position for a moment, then hardens and straightens up.

‘Pain is an illusion,’ Fulcrum said as she twisted his arms behind his back. ‘You can move past it if you breathe and concentrate on a finite counterattack.’

Ezra has so many teacher’s voices in his head he thinks he’s gone a little mad. But he also knows how incredibly privileged he is to have these instructors in the first place.

Ezra inhales deeply through his nose, then out through his mouth. He centers himself in the span of a few beats. Slower than it takes Luke to calm down, but still passable.

His shoulders droop, and he relaxes his tense muscles. He is only nine, but he is growing tall and broad. Exactly what he and Bail pray to the mountain gods for.

Dante Organa is proving to be a truly fruitful cover name.

Ezra is the last to exit the training grounds, located in a dirt patch behind the palace. His shoes soon quash well-kept grass, and he hears birds chirping near the partial roof.

The sliding glass door is left open for him, and he trudges inside the changing room. He is given a suitable berth for washing his face in the sink. He lavishes in the cold water wiping away the grime.

He towels off his face and peels off his thin clothes. No one looks at him, which is preferable.

All trainees wore the same outfit in training and around the palace. Tight maroon pants with a white stripe up the side and black tees. The black was meant to classify their lower rank for the time being, as was the metal tag necklace they were required to wear over their hearts.

Ezra pops white boots on after changing and leaves the room last.

What he does not expect is for Luke to be waiting for him.

He wears a powder blue tunic fastened with a silver belt around the waist. His leggings are pearly white, and he stands with hands clasped in front of him.

Luke beams, and Ezra rushes towards him concernedly. The trainees are still close by, and they send Ezra strange looks behind the prince’s back.

“Is something wrong, Your Highness?” Ezra asks, studying Luke for a hint of trouble.

“Not at all, Dante,” Luke says amusedly. “I just wanted to see you.”

The trainees exit the gym in a single file line, the teacher nodding to Ezra in permission. Princes over all else.

Ezra smiles mischievously. “You are meant to be studying speeches at this hour.”

Luke winks. “I persuaded my teacher to let me go a little early. I want to spend time with you! I feel like we haven’t talked since-”

Luke stops himself, and frowns down at his shoes.

‘Since the day after Luke’s eighth birthday,’ Ezra finishes for him. ‘When responsibilities were dumped on them. When their childhood was officially over.’

Ezra murmurs, “where should we go, Luke?”

Luke nearly bounces on his feet in excitement. “I want you to meet some people.” 

He offers his hand, and Ezra looks around. No one is left in the gym.

Ezra smiles fully and grasps the boy’s hand. “Let’s go.”

————

Luke guides Ezra by the hand through the back of the palace. The hangar bay isn’t far from there, and he nearly squealed when he learned who had arrived.

Both young pilots are waiting near the open Tantive IV platform. They earned time off to return to their home planet.

After Imperial flight school kicked them both out, the native Alderaanians defected, with his father’s help, to the Rebellion. Raymus even allowed his own son to join officially, when Raymus himself was only a neutral courier. Bail had to jump through serious hoops to get them on the planet undetected by the Empire.

Luke practically runs with Ezra as they reach the Tantive IV. “Wedge! Evaan!”

Both pilots were hotshot teenagers, but Luke has known them his entire life. The part of him that longed to see the stars wanted to be them. Before they left, they even taught Luke the mechanics of a starship. How to replace parts, how to secure new ones, and how to patch motivators.

Maybe they would teach him to fly one day!

Wedge smiles at Luke as he brings the unfamiliar boy up the ramp. “Hello, Your Highness! Look at how big you’re getting!”

“Yeah,” Evaan agrees, “we’ve missed your sunshine smile every day, Princeling.”

Only Evaan gets to call Luke that.

Luke beams, discreetly taking his hand away from Ezra’s. “Wedge, Evaan, this is my friend slash guard slash relative, Dante Organa. Dante, these are my honorary Big Brother and Big Sister, Wedge Antilles and Evaan Verlaine.”

“An Organa!” Wedge says incredulously. His eyes widen, and he does not slouch on his crate any longer. Evaan takes a similar stance on her own crate. “It is an honor. And you look just like His Majesty!”

Ezra cannot help but blush in embarrassment. “There’s no need for formalities. Luke is still your prince.”

“Shouldn’t you be?” Evaan wonders.

Luke’s head snaps towards Ezra, whose brows are furrowed. 

“She means no disrespect,” Wedge says quickly to Luke, “Your Highness.”

“Of course not,” Evaan realizes, frowning at herself. “I’m very sorry, Princeling.”

“I understand,” Luke says lightly. “They look eerily alike.”

Wedge and Evaan smile nervously.

Luke truly doesn’t care. Ezra looks like Bail. So what? He is Ezra Bridger, not Dante Organa.

Not even his trusted Big Brother and Big Sister can know that.

Ezra replies to Evaan, “I could never do what His Highness does. He will be the best king in Alderaan’s history.” His voice softens. “There’s no doubt about that.”

Wedge and Evaan are silent. They look at each other and smile.

Wedge directs his smile to Ezra. “We can agree on that, Dante.”

Luke feels infinitely warm inside as Ezra shyly gazes at him. Since it burns too much, he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“You both promised me,” Luke teases to the pilots, “that you’d teach me how to fly. As your prince, I command you to give me lessons.”

Evaan laughs. “You’re too precious, Your Highness. How about this: we teach you what all the controls do.”

“We can’t take you off-planet yet,” Wedge says. “You’re still a bit too young. Sorry, Your Highness.”

“I’m willing to learn anything you can teach me about traveling the galaxy,” Luke replies.

“Alright, then,” Wedge pushes off the crate. “Would you like to tag along, Dante?”

Ezra does not have to see Luke’s hopeful smile to convince him. He answers, “I love to learn new things.”

————

Ahsoka Tano has never felt more fulfilled than she has on Alderaan. With two young students thirsting for knowledge, she realized that she loves to teach.

For too long, she has isolated herself as a fugitive. It was important to care about others, not just herself.

Despite the Organa boys not being truly related, she was nearly fooled. They were both so close that they may as well be brothers. Ahsoka should discourage such closeness, but she always hated the Jedi Order’s strict rules. 

Ahsoka never wants to strain the healthy relationship of these two boys. Their trust in one another, built in so little time, was remarkable. She wants nothing to ruin it, because a prince should always trust the guard by his side.

So she was far more lenient with her teachings than any other Jedi, especially her own instructors. If any of the old Jedi saw her now, she would be thrown out of the Order twice over.

But Ahsoka was willing to take that risk. Better to trust and confide in your closest friend than to have no friends at all. Besides, Luke being a prince enclosed within the palace was bad enough; he had to be around someone his own age, which was why Dante’s presence is so vital to Luke’s role as a future king. If Luke is surrounded by the wrong people, Alderaan’s prosperous rule would sour faster than blue milk. 

And despite Alderaan’s current circumstance as an Imperial planet, the planet’s politics were healthy at its core. The system is not broken, and it can never be. It isn’t an option.

Teaching Luke and Dante has really been the highlight of her life. Luke was just the right amount of headstrong, the type of stubbornness that meant he would never give up. That was the most valuable quality a Senator can have, especially when passing legislature. 

Luke was skeptical at the beginning, though. He didn’t take stock in Bail’s explanation for how special he was with his high Force sensitivity.

When he moved a potted plant with his mind, though, Luke understood the task he was assigned. It is not a task meant to be taken lightly, and as a result, Ahsoka noticed the sunshine boy had grown reserved at times. These dips in mood were keenly felt by Dante as well, though he verbalized nothing of it.

Ahsoka knows it is unfair to put so much weight on Luke at only nine years old, but Ahsoka had begun training even younger. And during a war, all children had to grow up fast, even the most privileged ones. 

She felt for the young prince, she really did. But Bail quickly explained the situation the first night she arrived on Alderaan, and it is imperative that Luke become who he is destined to be: the king who will finally bring peace to the galaxy.

To that end, Luke rose to every challenge Ahsoka presented before him. Dante, an incredibly formidable and resilient little boy, followed in Luke’s every footstep.

Ahsoka did not credit her lessons, though. She always had too much of a ‘wing it’ personality for even her former Master’s liking.

She credited their success to the solid friendship between Luke and Dante Organa.

Despite guard training every day, Dante attended lessons with plenty of energy and ferocity left over. Dante was not the most disciplined boy, but he took criticism well and learned quickly. His interest in any form of knowledge bolsters Luke’s own, even when Luke acted like a royal pain.

Dante was the steadying force that Luke needed, and Luke was the constant that Dante needed in his life. Ahsoka hadn’t heard the whole story, but Dante’s early life was apparently tumultuous. 

Ahsoka ends her ruminations as a bell chimes at her allotted room located in the back of the palace. She undoes her crisscrossed position on the plum bedspread and glides to the door. She keys open the lock, and Bail is there.

She inclines her head. “Your Majesty.”

“May I talk to you for a moment?” Bail asks, shifting on his feet nervously.

Ahsoka steps back, and Bail enters. She ensures the door slides closed before leaning against the tan durasteel.

Bail turns around and does not get comfortable by sitting on the crimson sofa. He lingers by a rug Ahsoka brought with her from Shili, meant to signify the sunlit grasslands of her home planet.

He clasps his hands behind his back, his posture straightening.

Bail announces, “there is something I must tell you about Dante.”

“Okay,” Ahsoka says hesitantly, crossing her arms over her casual silver dress.

Bail sighs and looks away. “Dante spent a period of time with the Rebellion. In that very short window of time, Mon learned about his Force sensitivity.”

Ahsoka does not broach the topic further, because if Bail, the most honest king she’s ever known, is hiding information from her, it is for good reason. She instead nods in encouragement after he pauses briefly.

Bail continues, “after a long stay in deep space, the Ghost has since resurfaced. Mon made contact with the ship, and she told Jarrus about Dante.”

Ahsoka recalls Kanan Jarrus vaguely. She was a Padawan, and he was a youngling at the Temple. She met him after the Purges when she needed a quick getaway once bounty hunters learned of her presence on Felucia. She met the crew of the Ghost and befriended the captain, Hera Syndulla. When Ahsoka entered the fold as a Rebel, she learned that the Ghost crew is still intact today, running daring smuggling missions for the Rebellion.

She is not surprised that Kanan takes an interest in Dante. Force sensitives are hard to come by in a galaxy where such beings must remain hidden.

Bail says, “Mon insists that I bring Jarrus to Alderaan to meet Dante. I must admit...I am unsure if it is a wise decision.”

Ahsoka purses her lips and thinks. In the days she spent on the Ghost, she observed that Kanan was secretive, brash, and cynical. His saving grace is his affection for Hera, and she is his reason for joining the Rebellion. To that end, Kanan has traits that remind Ahsoka too much of her old Master.

Ahsoka could see the danger of smuggling another Jedi to Alderaan. It is hard enough for her to pass through the extensive security checkpoints set up by the Empire. 

But smuggling him in just for a quick chat? Ahsoka is unsure where she stands on the scale of pros and cons.

She could use Kanan’s help wrangling two boys, but she is doing well enough by herself. Kanan’s personality is...probably not the best to have around children. Luke and Dante are too young and impressionable.

So not a permanent place on Alderaan. Ahsoka figures, even if they were to ask Kanan, he would say no, because he couldn’t be away from his makeshift family for long. Without them, he isn’t much more than a fugitive, like her.

If Kanan wishes to talk to Dante, it can be done quickly. Bail’s personal shuttle can have him on-and-off-planet under the cover of darkness in as little as two hours.

It wouldn’t hurt to show Dante that other Jedi exist around the galaxy besides Ahsoka. 

‘The young and impressionable mind’ argument, however, keeps Ahsoka tongue-tied. Kanan could try and persuade Dante to leave Alderaan. That would destroy everything Ahsoka was working for. The perfect balance between the Organa boys would be disrupted forever, throwing the fate of the galaxy on a tilt-a-whirl.

Ahsoka could afford no such mistakes. Not so much as a sleight of hand. And certainly not a single stray word from the mouth of another.

But, but, but...Dante still expresses reservations about the Force. Luke, after convincing, had grown to understand his power. Dante, though, needs an extra push to know that he is doing what is best for the galaxy. And for his own personal growth.

Therefore, Ahsoka cannot discount Kanan entirely. Dante could benefit from a brief conversation with another Jedi.

Ahsoka finally speaks, tired of her mind running around, testing every outcome. “A conversation between Dante and Kanan does not seem very harmful, Your Highness.”

Bail nods considerately.

“However,” she says, “I know for certain that Kanan’s character isn’t...a model.”

Bail smirks. “Respectfully, I could once say the same about you.”

“Fair enough,” Ahsoka says with a shrug.

“You are in favor of them meeting,” Bail summarizes.

“Kanan should know that Force sensitives are still around,” Ahsoka decides. “It’s common courtesy.”

Bail hums. “I suppose if it’s looked at that way...I will agree with Mon, and make Kanan’s visit a quick one.”

“At night,” Ahsoka adds, “when there are less stormtroopers patrolling the city.”

Bail nods in agreement.

-

The next night, when Dante is meant to be asleep in his cozy bedroom, Ahsoka knocks on the door once. She hisses, “Dante? Are you awake?”

She hears trudging footsteps, followed by the door sliding open. Dante has a gray blanket wrapped around his body, and he uses the heel of his hand to wipe the blurriness out of both eyes. His black hair, unkempt and wild and tinted blue, frames thick eyebrows and browning skin. His pajamas are navy silk, swallowing up his growing form.

Ahsoka realizes in that very moment how truly young Dante is.

Dante blinks up at her. “Fulcrum?”

Ahsoka grimaces. “I need you to come with me to see Bail.”

Dante asks, “is something wrong?”

“No, honey.” Ahsoka pats his shoulder and says, “leave your blanket in the room, please.”

Dante frowns but does as he is told, unfolding his body from the blanket. He tosses it messily on his unmade bed and pops his feet into running shoes. Ahsoka watches as he smooths out his pajamas and levels himself out in the Force.

Ahsoka guides Dante with a light hand on his back. Dante does not ask questions, adjusting to the change rather seamlessly. It is almost enough to give Ahsoka pause, but she has a goal to accomplish.

Bail is waiting near the hangar bay, stoic guards lingering near his sides. Ahsoka pays them no mind; she knows for a fact how loyal everyone in the palace is to their king’s double life.

Bail smiles down at Dante. “How are you, Dante?”

Dante hums, choosing not to question Bail or Ahsoka about what’s happening. Ahsoka has been teaching him the art of patience, with mixed results. 

“Alright, Your Highness,” he replies.

“I apologize for not checking up on you every day,” Bail says. “It’s been a busy time for us all.”

Dante nods, then says a basic, “I understand, Your Highness.”

Ahsoka frowns. She may have to talk to Bail about Dante later. She knows that Breha often reached out to the boy, but Bail? She is unclear about his role in Dante’s life.

Bail kneels to Dante’s level. “Fulcrum has expressed to me your reservations about the validity of your teachings. There is someone...special like you...who would like to meet you. He is right behind this door and on my shuttle. It is up to you if you would like to speak with him, Dante.”

“Is he,” Dante asks quietly, “dangerous?”

“No!” Bail shakes his head and nearly laughs. “Is Fulcrum bad, Dante? Of course not.”

Dante looks at the bay doors uncertainly. “Will you be right here?”

“I will be,” Ahsoka says with a smile, touching the boy’s shoulder. “I’ll even follow you.”

He glances up at her and reads her Force signature. It is as simple as blinking for Dante, after intense sessions of meditation that used to frustrate him.

He knows the truth and looks back at Bail. “Okay, Your Highness.”

Bail rises to his feet and the guards open the bay doors. As the metal retracts into the wall, he says, “you are very brave, Dante.”

Dante does not react to the compliment, instead eyeing the shuttle smuggled in from the nearest Rebel base. Staying on brand, the starship was pearl with maroon wings. The ramp is open, and guards stand on both sides. Ahsoka could expect even more guards inside the shuttle with Kanan.

Ahsoka allows Dante to take the first steps inside the hangar. His walk is breezy despite the conflict in his mind. Once again, he nearly fooled her.

Ahsoka is a pace behind Dante as he pads across the hangar platform. The lights guide him forward, and she senses his apprehension fade due to her stabilizing presence.

They reach the platform, and the guards incline their heads towards Dante. He almost shifts uncomfortably at the attention, but he musters a half-smile.

Ahsoka knows he isn’t an Organa, but she cannot begin to guess at Dante’s true identity.

Dante glides up the ramp, and Ahsoka follows. He turns back once he enters the shuttle, and she sends him a wan smile. He smiles back shyly and advances to the open space in the middle of the shuttle.

Alderaanian guards line the walls like toy soldiers, or security in a bank vault. They are spaced a few feet apart, in abundance despite the close quarters. Their gazes sweep past Ahsoka and Dante, inclining heads as Dante studies the figure at the booth.

Kanan rises from the booth, and Ahsoka absorbs the image as Dante moves forward. Kanan looks far older than he did years ago, but she still had a decade on him. His skin is tan, he has a dark beard along his jawline, and his eyes are hardened by war. He wears a skin-tight yellow shirt and blue smuggler pants. 

Dante sees his signature through the Force, a blue shadow similar to Ahsoka’s own. The familiarity spurs Dante to inch closer to the booth.

Kanan’s gaze slides to Ahsoka, then widens in clear surprise. “Fulcrum. Good to see you.”

Ahsoka says coolly, “Kanan Jarrus. How is Hera?”

Kanan visibly blushes. “Fine.”

“Good.” Ahsoka places a hand on Dante’s shoulder. He looks up at her expectantly. “I’ll be by the door.”

Dante nods in acquiescence. Ahsoka steps backwards until she frames the shuttle entryway. She folds her arms and watches the two closely.

Kanan sends Dante a smile. “Hello, Dante. I’m Kanan Jarrus. Would you like to sit?”

Dante takes the opposite side of the booth, and Kanan lowers himself in his seat. Dante sits properly, as Luke was taught, and studies the stranger.

“I sense you,” Dante says, hands clasped in his lap.

Kanan smiles. “I’m just one of many, Dante.”

“How did you find out about me?” Dante wonders.

Kanan lowers his voice. “The Rebellion.”

Dante leans forward, gasping audibly followed by a rush of concern. “Are Shara and Kes okay?”

Ahsoka bristles. How much does Dante know about the Rebellion? How does he know Shara Bey and Kes Dameron?

If Kanan is shocked, he gives no indication. “I spoke with them about you. I couldn’t believe someone with your abilities passed through a base.” He sounds almost excited. “Once I learned of you, I simply had to meet you.”

Dante cannot grasp for the words at first. Neither could Ahsoka, if she were him.

He finally asks hesitantly, “are you a Jedi, like my teacher?”

Kanan replies, “I am.”

“And you work for the Rebellion?” Dante inquires.

“Yes,” Kanan confirms.

“If you’re hoping for me to come with you,” Dante says, “I’ll have to disappoint you.”

Kanan blinks. So does Ahsoka.

Not even she could pierce through Kanan’s shields. Dante was perceptive. A technique he learned from Luke.

“That’s...not exactly what I want,” Kanan admits.

Dante tilts his head to the side. Ahsoka nearly forgets he is a nine year old boy with how insightfully he studies Kanan.

“What, then?” Dante prompts.

Kanan stares at Dante in disbelief. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

“When you are old enough,” Kanan says, “and if you wish to join the Rebellion in any capacity, I want you to give Mon, our leader, a code word to get in contact with me. Only you and Mon will know it. Is that alright with you?” He glances uncertainly at Ahsoka. “Is that alright?”

Ahsoka nods once. Kanan could not be entirely discounted from the equation. He may be of use in the future.

Kanan whispers the code to Dante, and he nods.

Dante leans back and turns to meet Ahsoka’s gaze across the room. She smiles and advances. He rises from the booth and says to Kanan, “we’ll meet again.”

Ahsoka places a hand on his shoulder as Kanan stands as well.

“I look forward to it,” Kanan says genuinely. He then bows his head to Ahsoka. “I wish you the best, Fulcrum.”

“And you,” Ahsoka says breezily.

She ushers Dante out of the shuttle. The guards leave behind her.

None of them look back, or speak of that night again.


	4. Age 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter notes several things at once. First, his posture is remarkable for a little boy. Second, he does not look directly into her eyes, as boys are taught in high society when faced with an older woman. Third, he speaks with immense respect for those with more experience than him, hinting at a wise soul.
> 
> And finally, Dante has become a second Luke. He follows Luke’s lead and goes so far as to emulate Luke’s exemplary behavior.
> 
> Dante may have not been of breeding stock, but he could trick anyone into believing he was a being of high class and stature.
> 
> And that, right there, is a red flag. Admirable behavior, certainly, especially for a ten year old boy, but Winter knew deception when she saw it.
> 
> Deception on whose part? That is the question.

Winter Celchu cannot figure out Dante and Luke Organa.

After spending much of her teenage years off-planet, networking on behalf of the Rebellion, Winter thought she could return to Alderaan with fresh eyes on the situation.

Breha summoned her to join the family for dinner on her first day home. Winter examines the table and eyes five chairs. Not four, not three. Five.

The boys are already seated at the table. Their chairs, taking up the window side, are pushed so close they might as well share a seat. They whisper to each other, and not even Winter’s inherent ability to lip-read can help her discern their conversation.

When Luke sees her, though, his grin is too adorable to ignore. “Winter!”

She pulls back her seat across from the boys and smiles at the little prince. She practices good posture, smoothing out her light pink dress.

“Your Highness,” Winter says, “you’ve grown so much!”

“Thank you,” Luke says with a shy smile. “Do you remember Dante?”

Winter smiles coolly at the boy. “Of course.”

“I remember you as well,” Dante says cordially. 

Winter notes several things at once. First, his posture is remarkable for a little boy. Second, he does not look directly into her eyes, as boys are taught in high society when faced with an older woman. Third, he speaks with immense respect for those with more experience than him, hinting at a wise soul.

And finally, Dante has become a second Luke. He follows Luke’s lead and goes so far as to emulate Luke’s exemplary behavior.

Dante may have not been of breeding stock, but he could trick anyone into believing he was a being of high class and stature.

And that, right there, is a red flag. Admirable behavior, certainly, especially for a ten year old boy, but Winter knew deception when she saw it.

Deception on whose part? That is the question.

Bail and Breha enter the room, taking their seats at each end of the table. Winter greets the king and queen courteously. Dinner is served, and as the cooks disappear, she studies the contents of the table whilst eating.

Luke offers Dante a slice of pooja fruit, but he shakes his head meekly. Luke eats the slice with a shrug.

A moment later, Dante counters by offering a slice of shuura fruit. Luke smiles at a joke only the two of them know, and Winter’s eyes widen.

Dante’s reaction to Luke’s smile results in a worried bottom lip. It curls into a rival smile, and Luke stifles a laugh. When Luke turns away, Dante’s gaze lingers on Luke.

For a solid five seconds.

Dante pops the slice of fruit in his mouth and directs his full attention to the plate. He chews, and Winter swears there is a red tint to his copper skin.

When Luke peeks over at Dante less than a minute later, the two share a mischievous smile.

So Dante isn’t deceiving anyone...he adores Luke. Same as everyone else.

That leaves the sovereigns to her left and right, Bail and Breha Organa. 

They were hiding Dante Organa. And Winter knows what that means.

His name isn’t Dante Organa.

Winter keeps her realization to herself. She allows herself to become distracted by small talk at the table. 

When dinner is over, though, and she ensures Breha is asleep beside Bail, Winter locks herself in her bedroom.

Winter knows it is risky, but once something is lodged in her mind, she must have an answer. She activates her commlink, her only direct connection to the Rebellion.

When dispatch for a discontinued fashion line answers, Winter says the code word. Her communication link is sent.

“Winter!” Evaan exclaims, the link fragile and finicky. “Is something wrong on Alderaan?”

“No,” Winter assures her, “this is a...matter concerning the royal family.”

“How can I help?” Evaan chirps.

“I need access to the file on Dante Organa,” Winter says.

Evaan hums. “I’m instantly suspicious, Celchu. Dante is a good kid! What do you want his file for?”

Winter smiles. “I don’t think his name is Dante.”

There is static.

“Okay,” Evaan pauses, “how can you possibly know that?”

“Call it woman-spy intuition,” Winter replies.

“Well then,” Evaan says, “if the Rebellion is hiding his identity, it is for a very good reason. And that means only the boss herself will have access to the files.” 

“Mhm.” Winter practically sings, “are you going to get it for me?” 

“Hm.” Evaan pretends to think. “Will I? Or won’t I? A conundrum, indeed.”

Winter laughs. “Pretty please? You know how I am when something’s on my mind!” She sighs dramatically, lying on her bedspread. “I will not rest!”

“Don’t I know it,” Evaan says sardonically. She sighs very deeply, making a show of it. Then, she decides, “I’ll comm tomorrow with results.”

“Yes!” Winter exclaims, voice softening. “I adore and appreciate you, Evaan Verlaine.”

“Whatever.” Evaan cuts off the link.

Winter smiles and laughs in the safety of her bedroom.

-

Winter’s commlink chimes early the next morning. She jolts out of bed in a cotton nightgown and grasps the microphone on her nightstand. 

She perches on the side of the mattress and flicks on the comm. “Good morning, my sweet Evaan.”

“Shut up,” Evaan says bitterly, “you know you were right to question him.”

“Aha!” Winter nearly trills, legs pulled up to her chest. “What have you found, my pearl dove?”

“His real name is Ezra Bridger,” Evaan reveals. “His parents were freedom fighters who died during the Lothal Siege. He snuck onto a Rebel ship and Mon set him up with His Highness.”

Winter had to say: she was shocked. Not that Dante was a false identity, but that his name was changed for good reason.

So...nothing nasty and deceptive after all. Her hunches are rarely wrong, and it throws her for a loop.

“That’s it?” Winter pouts. “I expected far more than that.”

“I did too,” Evaan admits.

Then, she gasps.

“What?” Winter asks.

“Maybe his file is incomplete,” Evaan suggests. “Maybe Mon never logged everything in on purpose.”

Winter hums in consideration. “You’re probably right. Something’s missing.”

“Whatever it is,” Evaan says, “I can’t find it by accessing files. It’s a dead end for now.”

Winter sighs in defeat. “I’ll play the long game.”

————

Luke bounces with excitement as his bags are piled onto the Tantive IV. He sends a wild grin to every guard who sets down luggage, and they break character by waving or smiling back.

His father often told him that his smile worked wonders on people.

If Luke could fix the galaxy with a smile, he would.

Luke fidgets with his proper clothing, the buttons on his cream dress shirt and the collar confining his throat. His black slacks are a bit tight in the thighs, as he’s been growing a bit lately. Even the tailors and clothing designers cannot keep up with Luke’s current growth spurt.

Ezra, though, had already surpassed him by three whole inches! Luke’s father was right when he predicted Ezra would grow big and strong, as a guard should.

Luke shifts on his feet due to fidgeting, his boots clunking against one another. The sound of his father’s footsteps causes him to stand still and look up.

Bail ushers the rest of the bags inside the Tantive IV cargo hold. Ezra is right behind him carrying his own small bag. Breha arrives to say her final goodbyes.

She presses a kiss to his father’s cheek. Luke can sense the spark between them, even after all these years.

Breha then gathers Ezra into her orchid skirts. He leans against them and allows Breha to muss his wild hair. He laughs and says a genuine goodbye.

Ezra steps away and allows Breha to kneel before Luke. He tosses his arms around her neck as she tucks him into her shoulder.

“My darling boy,” his mother murmurs. “Make sure your father has everything for his speech. You know how forgetful he is sometimes.”

Luke laughs, and catches Bail roll his eyes. “I promise, Mom.”

Breha is soon escorted away by handmaidens and royal guards. Bail smiles sadly as she leaves their view.

Luke will feel the absence of his mother keenly in a few hours, he’s sure of it.

“Boys,” Bail says after a throat clear, “let’s unpack while the ship prepares to leave.”

Luke and Ezra fall into line, like the team they had become.

-

Luke shivers in a booth, knees pulled to his chest. Guards had already fetched him a blanket, but the coldness of hyperspace cannot be stopped.

He senses Ezra seconds before he enters the communal space. Luke nearly smiles pridefully at himself, but his teeth are chattering too much to complete the action.

Ezra has changed clothes since Luke saw him an hour earlier. Ezra had taken some time to settle into his quarters and speak to his guard teacher, who was also assigned on the shuttle. Now, Ezra wears black leggings and a tan sweatshirt, meant to combat Alderaan’s snowy weather. Luke figures it works just as well for the cold of space.

He gazes at Luke and halts. Ezra’s eyes are wide as he squeaks, “be right back, Your Highness.”

His socked feet pad on the durasteel floor as he retreats.

Luke welcomes the silence. The guards posted at each door do not make a sound. A pin could drop.

He learns best in silence. He discovered that about himself when Fulcrum suggested he practice concealment in the Force on his own time.

‘Treat it like a round of meditation,’ Fulcrum said. ‘And meditation isn’t so bad, is it?’

Luke remembered shaking his head in the affirmative, despite noting Ezra’s difficulty to calm his mind. Ezra’s growth as far as meditation was slow, but steady.

So Luke spent every night, after Bail and Breha thought he was tucked into bed and kissed on the forehead, sitting criss-cross on his bedspread and imagining he were invisible.

Eventually, Luke tricked Fulcrum with his hidden Force presence. She beamed with such happiness and pride for him that Luke forgot how dangerous it was if he were ever caught.

Concealment is the most dangerous technique he has to master. Fulcrum assures him constantly that he is not expected to perfect it. Yet.

But then this voyage to Coruscant threw a wrench into their plans. Fulcrum and his parents tried to shield Luke inside the palace for too long. Luke should have known that eventually he would have to join upper class society. The least painful option was for Luke to join his father on a short trip to the Senate on Coruscant. Bail is meant to introduce a new bill alongside the Senator for Naboo, Pooja Naberrie. The bill’s purpose is to give more freedom to planetary leaders for Rebel cells to smuggle in goods as well as downtrodden civilians.

It is expected to be a simple mission lasting less than a standard week, with two days travel time. Luke hopes all goes to plan, because if it doesn’t?

He does not know if he will be ready.

Ezra reappears in the room with a gray blanket in his hands. He halts near the booth and asks, “may I approach, Your Highness?”

Luke nods, then verbalizes for good measure, “you may.”

Ezra sits in the same booth row as Luke, messily casting the blanket atop Luke’s other one. He pats the blanket into place, tucking it alongside Luke’s drawn-up legs and shoulders.

Luke hugs the extra blanket close to him and murmurs, “thank you very much.” He looks away briefly to will his blush away. He searches for a distraction, deciding on a weak conversation starter. “I’ve never seen this blanket before.”

Ezra pulls his own knees to his chest. They sit so that two blankets prevent their legs and sides from touching. Ezra stares at the blank tabletop as he says, “it’s the only source of stability that I have besides a holo and a necklace.”

Luke frowns and observes his profile. Ezra’s face is grim and drawn, as if he aged twice as fast as Luke, when they were only two days apart.

Ezra has never talked about his life before Alderaan. Luke learned from his parents, when faced with someone who’s gone through trauma, that he must be patient. He had been patient for years, waiting for Ezra to give some indication of what happened to him when he was younger.

Now Ezra is ready. And Luke is ready to listen.

Luke prompts lightly, “you never talk about before.”

Ezra’s lashes flicker over to him. He studies Luke carefully, then decides he is not a threat.

They trust one another completely.

Ezra tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. Luke notices the tick more and more as Ezra’s hair reaches his shoulders.

Ezra murmurs, “my parents were freedom fighters. Know what that means?”

Luke croaks, “they were very brave.”

“Yes,” Ezra agrees hollowly. “They had a following on Lothal. Imperials took notice. They torched our house.”

Luke doesn’t breathe.

“We escaped with only a holo,” Ezra says, “but we ran straight into an Imperial firing squad.” 

A lump is visible in Ezra’s throat, and Luke’s mind churns. 

“My parents were executed,” Ezra continues, “and I ran until I reached a shuttle. I snuck onto it and landed on a Rebel base. I was taken into the care of Shara Bey and Kes Dameron. They gave me this blanket.” He taps Luke’s knee. “And made me this.” Ezra unfurls a japor snippet necklace from underneath his shirt. “Then I met Bail, and he promised me a good stable life on Alderaan. So far,” Ezra smiles at Luke wanly, “I haven’t been disappointed.”

“We’re still in danger,” Luke murmurs.

“But I’ve got you,” Ezra says hopefully, “and you’ve got me. That’s something.”

“Yeah,” Luke nods, smiling softly, “I’m happy you’re happy with us.”

“I am,” Ezra admits, “really.” He notes, “you’re not shivering anymore. See?”

Luke teases, “does this blanket have magic powers?”

Ezra smiles fully. “Who knows? It just might.”

Luke is filled with warmth as they sit beside one another silently for the rest of the journey.

————

Bail’s heart rests in his throat as a familiar man clad in black enters the Senate chambers. His breathing through a life-support mask is enough to make his skin crawl.

At least the Emperor isn’t here…

But then again, the Emperor’s absence from Coruscant is never a good sign. Ever.

Bail nearly stumbles into one of his guards as he is ushered into the Senate chamber. Enough time is allotted for the Emperor’s apprentice to move to the middle of the chamber. Bail catches leaders from every galactic planet enter their pews in an orderly fashion, hardly speaking beyond catty whispers.

The Senate barely accomplishes anything, anymore. It is all for show so the Emperor can pretend to appease wealthier planets, when in reality, he is denying them. Only kindly. Or as kindly as a vile man can deny someone.

Bail shuffles to the section designated for Alderaan. Since Naboo is next to his area, he receives a gratifying nod from Pooja.

She is no Padmé, but she is just as fierce and dedicated as her aunt.

Pooja’s belief in justice would be considered, by anyone else, a foolish and naive endeavor. But Bail has always believed in lost causes.

Chocolate curls frame Pooja’s delicate facial structure. Her profile studies the monster man taking his place in the center of the chamber with an indifferent performance mask. She wears a flowing formal gown that reminds Bail a little too much of Padmé’s funeral dress.

He grits his teeth and banishes the image away.

Bail spares a thought for his adopted sons. He instructed them to stay in his apartment and meditate. His exact words, in fact, were to ‘meditate until you are concealed, and do not stop until I return.’

With no Ahsoka to guide them, Bail prays to the mountain gods that Luke and Ezra can exercise control and follow instructions. It is out of the question to be caught when both boys are so young.

A possible captor is right in front of Bail, breathing heavily and choking the room with his power.

Is Anakin Skywalker still in there? If he is, does he care that his children are alive? That one of them is in this very building?

It is all for the best, Bail thinks. Anakin Skywalker was a passionate but cocky young man. His negatives outweigh his positives. He couldn’t care for the twins properly without Padmé’s loving nature.

The rest of the Senators enter their sections, and circular pads hover away from the balcony. 

Darth Vader does not have to speak to prompt them. Alderaan and Naboo sections hover towards the center. He waits.

Bail and Pooja speak.

————

Ezra senses Bail’s distress when he is down the hallway. He breaks his meditative state and cracks his eyes open.

Luke sits criss-cross on a plush gray ottoman. He wears silk white flare pants paired with a buttonless placket shirt that seemed comfortable. His eyes are closed, blonde lashes brushing freckled cheeks. The sheer curtain does little to block the sunlight accentuating Luke’s tanning complexion. 

And he swears Luke’s golden head is adorned with a crown, but it is only a reflection.

Silently, Ezra untucks his legs and rises. The fabric of his guard uniform doesn’t even rustle as he reaches the sliding door. Two guards are on the other side of the thick durasteel, and Bail’s distress is another wave that buffets Ezra.

He backpedals just in time for Bail to key open the apartment door. He hears Luke rustle and rise from the ottoman as soon as Bail’s figure frames the doorway.

Ezra’s eyes must be exceptionally wide and concerned because Bail does not reprimand him for breaking meditation.

Bail allows the door to shut behind the guards before asking, “what’s wrong?”

Luke stands between Bail and Ezra, the crooked point in their triangle. His brows furrow as he studies Ezra.

Ezra cannot help but think Luke is a celestial being, the kind he heard about in fairytales. With the way the light hit Luke at just the right angle, Ezra concludes that something divine guides Luke Organa, even if the prince himself is unaware of it.

Ezra snaps his head back to Bail. “Respectfully, I should be asking you that, Your Highness.”

Bail frowns, but quickly grasps Ezra’s meaning. A flash of alarm appears before his eyes, but it disappears in a blink. “I...apologize, Dante. I will be more careful.”

“How did it go, Dad?” Luke asks primly, seeking any knowledge that would help his future station.

“The Empire graciously granted our bill request,” Bail says, Ezra reading the surprise it brought him to verbalize aloud.

Ezra sifts through the Force as Luke says, “that’s wonderful news. Mom will be very pleased.”

The Empire is run by two Force sensitives. Ahsoka explains them to be consumed by the Dark, while Luke and Ezra represent the Light alongside her. Ezra could sense the darkness in this building, and Luke could as well; it was as pungent as the scent of a nasty perfume. They are not sensed by the shroud due to their concealment technique, requiring immense concentration and a calm heartbeat. 

If one of these Dark Force sensitives approved Bail’s bill, it is clear that there is deception. A plot is preparing to unfold, and Ezra simply had to wait.

-

He does not have to wait very long. Only until the cover of night, when Ezra is the only person who remained awake. Even his guard teacher had recklessly fallen asleep.

Ezra is in the same room as Luke, bunking on a loveseat near the plush bed. Bail is unprotected, and that spurs Ezra to close his eyes and concentrate.

The Force becomes his night vision, and he pokes around breathing patterns, doing his best to leave them undisturbed.

Ezra peers outside the window, and his heart rate spikes.

A bounty hunter. In the building across from theirs. With a sniper rifle.

Ezra crawls out of the sofa and goes to the side of Luke’s bed. He places a hand on Luke’s shoulder and shakes. “Luke,” he whispers, “Luke, wake up.”

To his credit, Luke opens his eyes promptly. Ezra barely makes out the white in Luke’s eyes and the moonlight in Luke’s hair. “Hm?”

Ezra makes a shushing sound. “Do you sense it, Luke?” He hisses.

It is too dark to see Luke’s reaction, but the sheets rustle. “Dad!” He exclaims fearfully.

“Come on,” Ezra murmurs, “crawl with me.”

Luke senses the urgency, since the sniper could fire at any second. He slips out from under the covers and kneels to Ezra’s level. Luke’s heartbeat immediately spikes at the danger so close to them.

Ezra rashly slides his hand in Luke’s, then guides the pair out of the room, his opposite arm reaching up to partially open the door. They squeeze through a small opening, and Ezra rises to his full height. Luke does as well, keeping his grip on Ezra’s hand, burning their skin.

Ezra closes his eyes, and hears the sniper rifle click.

His eyes fly open, and he hastily opens the door to Bail’s adjacent room. The sound of a blaster bolt whizzing through the air is unmistakable.

Luke must sense it as well, because he rushes them to the bed, where Bail sleeps peacefully, Ezra’s teacher snoring opposite the king.

The panoramic window seconds away shatters, and Ezra jumps on the bed, feet landing steadily atop the covers. He unlatches from Luke and throws out his arms, palms open and directed towards the window.

He exhales to even out his breath, and his wide eyes stare at the searing red blaster bolt.

Frozen. In midair. An inch away from the bed.

The rest of Ezra’s senses bleed into awareness all at once: Bail’s startling breaths upon waking and seeing the frozen bolt, his unblinking gaze as he stares up at Ezra on the bed, the feel of Luke’s body heat standing up beside him as he adopts the same stance as Ezra.

The sound of swearing as Ezra’s teacher is greeted by the realization that Ezra is Force sensitive. And just saved the king of Alderaan with help from the prince. 

And that the prince is Force sensitive too, even more so than Ezra.

Ezra does not move despite the chaos, though, because the bolt is still there. If his or Luke’s concentration slips, it’s all over.

It is Luke that has the strength to advance, stepping over Bail’s legs and dropping close to the bolt.

“No,” Ezra manages, hearing Bail chime in unison.

Luke holds out his hands, moving his arms as if parting a wave.

The blaster bolt fizzles. Out of existence forever. Nothing but harmless oxygen particles.

Ezra is completely speechless, paralyzed with a dropped jaw.

How did Luke do that?!

Ezra has to look no further than the bright light exuding from Luke’s chest like a supernova.

Luke is a being of celestial light. Of course he can do anything. Weapons are no match for Luke Organa.

“Your Highness,” a frazzled man says, “you have some explaining to do.”

Bail ignores Ezra’s teacher in favor of splaying out his arms. He has since slid up in bed, back perched against the pillows. 

Unceremoniously, Ezra drops onto the bedspread and breathes. Luke crawls onto the mattress and tosses an arm over Bail’s stomach. Bail uses an arm to hold Luke close, hand rubbing Luke’s upper back. Luke buries his head in Bail’s collarbone and sighs in relief. The tension bottled up in Luke releases, his small body sinking into Bail.

His free arm moves, finger motioning to him. “Come on,” Bail murmurs to Ezra. “It’s alright.”

Ezra pauses for a beat, since his teacher is sputtering in the corner, but realizes how tense he is. And afraid.

Ezra slides towards Bail and tucks himself on his opposite side. He does not lean entirely into him, but allows Bail to cast an arm around him in a half-hug. Ezra allows himself the opportunity to breathe, his heart racing and mind reeling.

He saved the king. And Luke saved him.

Bail’s voice is garbled in Ezra’s ear as he addresses the older man. “No one can know about what these boys can do. Understand me? It is an order.”

Ezra peers over Bail’s chest, and catches a recovering Luke meeting his gaze.

“Yes,” the teacher says, “as you command, Your Highness.”


	5. Age 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laughter, gorgeous musical laughter, permeates the hallway dotted with guards. “So that went well, huh?” 
> 
> Luke makes an indecent squeak. “How long have you been waiting out here?”
> 
> Ezra’s golden brown skin glows along with his cerulean eyes and rich dark hair. His grin is electric. “Ever since you said in a huff ‘I’m going to the race and my parents can’t stop me’ before you went into the room and demanded permission.”

Luke is brought into the city on a trolley of wooden carts, sitting on a cushion in the front. Upon learning that there are poor civilians in the shadowed parts of Aldera, Luke was moved to search for a way to help. One day when he was eating, he knew exactly what to do.

‘We always have leftover food,’ Luke mutters as the cooks sweep away the dinner table. ‘Not even the staff can eat it all.’

‘What was that, dear?’ Breha asks from her end of the table. Both adoptive parents and Ezra stare at him curiously.

Luke blinks hesitantly, then says, ‘I want to give leftover food to the people in the city.’

He catches Ezra’s mouth curve into an affectionate smile, eyes blown wide and glistening with gentleness. If Luke put the full weight of his gaze in his direction, he is unsure whether he will make it out with his stoic princely emotions intact.

His mother’s smile is easier to direct his attention to, as well as Breha’s soft, ‘he has a point, Bail. Why don’t we let him do it?’

His father’s mouth twinges, and Luke senses a wave of concern overcome him. ‘He will need,’ Bail says, ‘a lot of guards.’

Luke smiles. ‘I know, Dad.’

‘And Ezra will not move more than five feet away from you,’ Bail conditions.

Luke turns to Ezra, and the young guard smiles.

‘Not a problem,’ Ezra says, directing his words and gaze to Bail.

His father, for a moment, looks prepared to question Ezra. Inquiries including, but probably not limited to: are you trained enough to do this? Are you sure you’re ready to do what’s necessary? If something goes wrong, are you prepared to give your life for his?

But Bail does not ask Ezra any of those questions. Somehow, someway, Bail just knows the boys will be safe.

Luke does not ask how his father could know such an absolute so readily.

‘Well then,’ Bail says, ‘permission granted.’

Luke and Ezra refrain from squealing or jumping on their chairs. They were boys, but they would be men soon enough.

So Luke inclines his head and says a proper, ‘thank you, Dad.’

Now here Luke is, riding into town with carts of leftover food. There is more food here than Luke originally expected, and it threw his parents for a loop as well. Breha smacked Bail’s arm when she thought Luke was turned away and hissed ‘how could you not do this sooner?’

Luke stifled a laugh and was brought onto the cart by two heavyweight guards. They bowed and addressed him accordingly upon his sitting on a cushion. Ezra climbs up the cart and grins proudly at himself for his ability to do it without aid.

The ride to the city did not take very long, and soon they gathered a crowd in the poorest area of the metropolis. Ezra, sitting on the opposite side of the cart and flanked by two guards, can be easily missed in the throng. The cart is ushered to a stop by the drivers, and hands grabbed at closed sacks are politely halted by guards.

The amount of civilians there staggers Luke. His mother was right; this should have been done sooner.

Luke feels an ache, a throbbing in the Force. It alerts him of rapid heartbeats and empty stomachs and desperate pleas. It nearly tumbles him over, a bout of apprehension pinching his chest.

He takes a calming breath to settle his nerves, as he was taught in public speaking class, and rises smoothly to his feet.

All chatter falls silent. It takes Luke aback at how easily he commands attention.

A sea of faces observe him, and Luke projects his voice.

“Most of you may not know me,” Luke says, “but I’m Prince Luke Organa, son of your king and queen. I’m here because I noticed all the food that goes to waste in the palace, and I want to help. So please take some food. My guards and I will hand it out.”

He does not even ask them to be orderly, but they are. Civilians wait their turn as everyone hands down packaged food.

A swell of emotion settles in Luke’s chest, and he smiles down at hopeful faces. He thinks his father may be right: his smile can cure the galaxy.

Luke grabs a pack of food, catching Ezra’s grin, and helps out the guards.

-

“Please?” Luke falls to his knees and makes prayer hands, throwing them up towards Bail. “Pretty please, can we go?”

His father sighs deeply. “Luke, races are no place for a prince.”

Luke bows his head and pouts. It has been his dream to see a race in person! His parents always said he wasn’t old enough!

Aha...okay. He sees it now.

Luke inhales sharply and wears his princely mask. Bail and Breha watch the transformation take a single second, and their eyes widen.

He rises to his feet and says coolly, “fine, I understand your inhibitions. But know this: I’m going with or without your blessing. I have the tools to leave the palace at my disposal.”

He turns his gaze away primly and glides out of the family room. He will be stubborn about this; the least they could do is make a dream come true.

And if the race is bad? So what? He would be happy anyway. He learned a valuable lesson.

As the door slides open, Breha says, “alright, darling. We will allow it.”

Luke smirks before he looks over his shoulder. He schools his expression and says, “thank you, Mom.”

He steps into the hallway and waits for the door to close before jumping in excitement.

Laughter, gorgeous musical laughter, permeates the hallway dotted with guards. “So that went well, huh?” 

Luke makes an indecent squeak. “How long have you been waiting out here?”

Ezra’s golden brown skin glows along with his cerulean eyes and rich dark hair. His grin is electric. “Ever since you said in a huff ‘I’m going to the race and my parents can’t stop me’ before you went into the room and demanded permission.”

Luke flushes heatedly. “I feel like such a brat.”

“You’re not,” Ezra assures him, pushing off the wallpaper adorned with etchings of flame roses. “You’re the opposite, honestly, even though it doesn’t seem that way.”

Luke stuffs his hands into his dusty rose coverall pockets, glancing away from the intensity in Ezra’s gaze. “I appreciate that, I guess.”

Ezra halts a breath away. “I promise you: I’ll tell you when you’re being a brat, or difficult, or ridiculous. Asking for one thing isn’t bratty.”

Luke frowns in consideration, then looks at Ezra through his lashes. “I should be grateful for what I have,” he murmurs to himself.

“And you are,” Ezra says lightly. “But that has nothing to do with this. You never asked for this life, but you’re doing the best you can. Far better than I could’ve done in your place. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you ask for anything from Bail or Breha before.” 

Luke winces when he realizes Ezra is right. He only takes what is given. He never asks for more.

“Don’t create conflict where there is none,” Ezra echoes. “You want to see a race. Now, you’re going to see one.” 

Ezra hesitates, then places a warm hand on Luke’s shoulder. Since the guards do not look at them, Luke deems it an acceptable touch. 

“And I’ll be right beside you, as always,” Ezra murmurs.

Luke’s heart flutters like a fool’s. He is reminded of watching romance holofilms beside his mother. Breha adores the silly projections of male whisking away female, and Luke hates to admit he developed a fondness for them too. 

But he knew exactly what they were: foolish fantasies. 

So is this.

Luke swallows thickly and nods. “Yes, you will be.”

————

Ahsoka brings the Organa boys to the secluded gardens for a twilight of meditation. The glass dome ceiling reflects a full moon, the first one that could be seen in months due to rainy weather. The sky is full of stars that night as well, clear as clean crystal glasses inside the palace. It is a picturesque view among the shadowed flowers and trees.

She holds out an arm before they reach the first walkway. She counts five rings before the centerpiece, a patch of flame lilies, can be reached.

Ahsoka smirks at the boys, who glance up at her in confusion. “Let’s play a game.”

“Ooh!” Dante’s thick brows raise, and he grins excitedly.

Luke, meanwhile, is more subdued. He studies the playing field, each ring of the gardens, and asks coolly, “what are the rules?”

Ahsoka has been...not exactly concerned with Luke’s behavior recently, but…well...troubled.

But she would discuss it with him another time.

“This is a game the younglings used to play in the Jedi Temple before the war,” Ahsoka says, observing the flame lilies glow crimson despite the moonlight. “It is called hide-and-seek.”

“Fulcrum,” Dante chuckles, “that’s a children’s game.”

Ahsoka purses her lips at him. Dante quiets, his demeanor stilling in a single beat.

“Not the way it is played by Force sensitives,” Ahsoka says. “You will use your cloaking abilities to hide.” She winks at a disinterested Luke to garner his attention. “The only way to seek is to use the Force beyond the physical.”

Dante bounces giddily as Luke nods curtly. 

“Who hides first?” The prince inquires.

Ahsoka smirks. “You do.”

-

Ahsoka waits an hour after lessons to approach Luke Organa’s bedroom. She rarely enters the royal wing of the palace, preferring to keep to herself and remain inconspicuous. Even though she has been a teacher there for years, none of the employees know the true nature of her job.

The double doors are painted the color of pearl doves, the official bird of Alderaan. Etchings done by a professional depicts a faraway view of the capital city, Aldera. Above the tallest skyscraper spire is a floating crown, which Ahsoka recognizes as Luke’s silver-ruby circlet donned for special events.

Ahsoka knocks on the doors thrice. “Your Highness?”

She hears the unmistakable sound of sharp sniffling. 

The prince is crying.

Seconds pass, followed by another sniffle. 

Socked feet pad against the plush carpeting, and the knob turns.

The left door opens, and Ahsoka is shocked by how small Luke seems this way. His perfectly-pampered hair is a silver-blonde mess, and his skin tone is paler in the shadows. His silk moondust pajamas are rumpled and too large on his skinny body.

And if his eyelids weren’t red-rimmed, he wouldn’t have looked like he was crying a moment earlier.

The facade does not deter Ahsoka. Luke is a waterfall of conflict in the Force, and he is not shielding from her. In his overflow of emotion, he probably forgot to erect mental walls.

“Fulcrum?” Luke asks glibly. “What is it?”

“How about you tell me what’s wrong first?” Ahsoka asks concernedly.

Luke’s face becomes an inscrutable lock box. “Nothing. What is it?”

“It’s why I’m here,” Ahsoka bolsters. “You’ve been acting different for a while now.” She refrains from gathering him close and ruffling his hair. “I’m worried for my sunshine prince,” she murmurs.

Luke says, “I’m alright.”

“Nope,” Ahsoka shakes her head, “I don’t buy that.”

Luke steps back, hand on the opposite side of the door. Prepared at any second to close the door and lock her out.

But he lingers, gaze narrowing. “You don’t have to buy it. I won’t tell you something so personal.”

Ahsoka opens her mouth, ready to verbalize a knee-jerk ‘why?’

But she stops short, no sound coming out of her mouth.

It hits her, then, what she’s been doing wrong all this time. If her Masters saw her now, they would whack her upside the head.

How could she expect trust when she doesn’t give any in return?

Ahsoka’s mouth shuts, and she looks at the marble threshold separating the hallway from the plush maroon carpeting of Luke’s bedroom. The divide is cavernous to her, when in reality, it is a single step.

It is a bound she cannot avoid. Not if she wants answers from Luke in return.

Ahsoka ducks her head and directs her eyes to Luke’s. “You are right, Your Highness. Fulcrum is a name I created to protect myself from the Empire, not you.”

Luke’s head tilts as his gaze upturns. He waits patiently.

Ahsoka drops to her knees smoothly. When Luke is level to her, she looks into his moonlit eyes.

“My name,” she says, “is Ahsoka Tano. I was taken from my home planet of Shili by Jedi Master Plo Koon as a young girl. I was raised in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant until the Clone Wars forced me to fight at fourteen. I was placed under the care of-”

She stops. 

She looks into the prince’s eyes, and she nearly forgets herself.

She is a teenage girl again, looking into those eyes, but they are years older than her. 

Those eyes danced with mischief and misery.

And they called her Snips.

Bail did not tell her about Luke’s origins, but Ahsoka knows her intuition to be true.

“Under the care of?” Luke squints his eyes and smiles slyly. His head cocks to the side, and his eyes glint. “Did you have a senior moment?” He teases.

Ahsoka snorts, coming back to herself. “I’m not that old, Princeliness.”

“Hey!” Luke giggles.

Ahsoka is proud to have dissipated the waterfall that permeated Luke’s aura in the Force. He was getting back to his shining self, albeit slowly.

She knows he will have to tell him about Anakin, but she does not have the strength to do it. Not until he is older.

“Now,” Ahsoka asks kindly, “are you ready to tell me what ails my sweet prince on this fine night?”

Luke’s smile falls, and he looks away. His voice comes out small. “I don’t know how to say it.” He steps back. “Here. Come in.”

Ahsoka crosses the threshold as Luke disappears into darkness. The lights are turned on to bring dim light into the room. She senses Luke near a couch, the cushion dipping as he crosses his legs.

Ahsoka takes another cushion, leaving enough room between them. She comprehends the expansive room and comfortable furniture. 

“Fancy,” she comments.

When she receives no reply, she tips her head down. Luke grew completely serious again.

“I’ve been thinking about the future,” Luke says. “Things that I shouldn’t worry about. Like marriage.”

“You’re right,” Ahsoka frowns, “you shouldn’t worry about that.”

“I don’t want to marry,” Luke declares. “I don’t want to be with a princess because I’m forced to.”

Ahsoka murmurs, “I understand that.”

Something flutters in Luke’s aura, there and gone as quickly as a hummingbird zipping about the gardens. 

There is something Luke is concealing.

Ahsoka asks, “what is it that, exactly, bothers you about marriage?” She squints her eyes. “The part about forcing you into marriage or the princesses?”

Luke flushes pink and looks at his lap.

“The princess part more so than the concept of marriage,” Ahsoka says delicately. “Ah, I see.” She smiles sweetly. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting a prince.”

Luke sighs. “I feel like I’m going to disappoint my parents.”

“Psh!” Ahsoka shakes his head. “The exact opposite!”

Luke observes her hesitantly. “You think so?”

“Yeah!” Ahsoka chuckles and tugs the boy into a hug. Luke grumbles, but she squeezes his sides harder. “There’s no need to worry, Luke. I can wholeheartedly promise you that.”

Luke inhales sharply, but exhales calmly. Her words sink in, and he believes her.

Ahsoka does not break their hug until Luke complains about squeezing his lungs out.

————

Ezra wraps a cloak around his body, holding onto Luke’s wrist lightly. The crowds are boisterous and thick. Luke twists around crowds with a startling ease, turning every few moments to send Ezra a blinding grin.

Luke wears a burgundy hooded cape over beige commoner clothes, his presence well-disguised amongst the civilians. Palace guards follow at a safe distance masquerading as security guards.

‘I am trusting you a great deal,’ Bail whispered to him before they left. ‘Luke does not leave your sight.’ He pats Ezra’s shoulder. ‘And you must be safe as well.’

Ezra inclines his head. ‘I swear upon the mountain gods, Your Highness.’

Luke’s grin strikes him dumb again as they enter the arena. The arena rests in a sandpit, built in an oval for landspeeders. The world opens up around them as the crowds cheer above them, on each side, in front of them.

Ezra did not expect a fandom of racing to lie in the heart of Aldera. The royal family often banned races due to their loose morals and regulations. 

When a race is allowed on the planet, it is a spectacle for the ages.

Luke tugs him to the stairs, and Ezra remembers to keep his eyes firmly affixed to the prince. The Force is a flurry of heartbeats and breathing patterns. It takes more effort than Ezra thought to drown them out and hone in on the only other Force-sensitive in the arena.

His burgundy cloak flows behind his short legs as Luke guides him up and up and up. Ezra feels swallowed by the crowds as they reach the middle of an empty high row. He hangs on for his life.

Ezra bowls into Luke, and the prince laughs brightly.

“I think this is a good spot,” Luke says over the thousands of other voices. He turns towards the sandpit lined with landspeeders.

Ezra gasps at the bird’s eye view. It is a good spot.

Luke does not let go of his hand as they settle, and Ezra does not make to mention it. 

Something had changed in Luke Organa, but Ezra couldn’t gather what it was. Whatever it was, though, must be good. Luke has never shone quite this brightly before.

An announcer’s voice booms in the arena, listing off twelve racers. There is a mythology to each character in these races, and Ezra recalls listening to Luke explain a few of them.

‘I quite like William the Noble,’ Luke says flippantly when they are alone in his bedroom early one morning, before duties pull them apart. Luke tore through racing holozines like a maniac whenever he wasn’t practicing the piano for entertaining palace guests.

Ezra studies the holo of a dashing young man that is supposedly noble. ‘And why is that? Because he’s pretty?’

Luke falls silent.

Ezra looks down at his best friend and frowns at his muted Force presence. ‘Uh...Luke? Hello?’ He sits up and crosses his legs. ‘Did I say something wrong?’

‘So what if he is pretty?’ Luke says hollowly.

Ezra blinks. ‘Then...he’s pretty.’ He shrugs. ‘I can admit that.’

Luke stares at him. ‘Really? You’re not messing with me?’

Ezra snorts. ‘I’d never mess with a prince.’

Luke flicks off the holo. He stares for another couple beats, then blinks and looks away.

He flicks on the next holo racer. ‘But I think Qarl the Courageous is going to win this one. He’s always underestimated.’

‘If you say so,’ Ezra mumbles.

Luke has a smirk in his eyes. ‘You’re not a fan of this, huh?’

Ezra shrugs again. ‘Indifferent is more like it.’

‘Maybe a race will change your mind,’ Luke says lightly, flicking to a holo of Diana the Daring.

‘Maybe,’ Ezra replies.

The arena calls the landspeeder to the front lines, and they are off. Luke jumps with their hands still intertwined. Ezra laughs at him and watches the screens. Luke is fully engrossed in trying to stare at everything all at once.

Ezra may not be a racing fan, but he knows one thing he’s a fan of: seeing Luke happy.

“Qarl is in front!” Luke exclaims. “I knew it, I knew it!”

Ezra wants to say something witty about Qarl winning because he is in the prince’s favor. Their disguises prevents him from voicing the remark. He simply hums and watches closely.

Landspeeders fly in circles, Ezra feeling dizzy after a while. Luke squeezing his hand every couple rounds brings Ezra back to full awareness. He sweeps around the crowd, then pokes around the Force for anomalies in their section. He finds none and takes a calming breath.

Ezra nods in solidarity with Alderaanian royal guards posted all around them. They could not see anything either. It is a relief, especially with illegal activities usually occurring behind the scenes of such races.

“Final lap!” Luke exclaims. “Qarl is going to win!”

He bounces on the balls on his feet. Ezra directs his attention back to the screen.

And sure enough, Qarl the Courageous crosses the finish line. Sections rooting for him scream, while others curse and lose credits.

Luke practically throws himself into Ezra’s arms. He is forced to jump along with Luke to match his excited rhythm. 

“I was right!” Luke yells over the crowd. “I can’t believe it!”

Ezra allows Luke this time to bask in elation. Because he isn’t thinking about the race anymore.

He is thinking about the sudden warning in the Force.

Ezra peers over Luke’s shoulder as they embrace, gaze darting around them. He squeezes his eyes shut and drowns out the noise. 

He concentrates, and he finds it.

A rifle trained on a royal guard. Clearly a bounty hunter who knows they are not regular arena security. The scope ghosts his form, as if waiting for an indication.

An indication of where the prince is in the throng.

Ezra grits his teeth and wraps his arms tight around Luke’s middle. He squeezes a tad too tight, followed by shoving his mouth near Luke’s left ear. He tucks a hand beneath Luke’s hood and cups his right ear to stifle the applause.

He bangs an invisible gong, one that only resounds within their bond in the Force. Luke’s elation dies in his throat, and his mouth clamps shut. His body, so free and open seconds ago, winds up tightly, on the alert.

Luke’s lashes flutter, and Ezra’s hair brushes his forehead. His hand presses against Luke’s jawline, thumb brushing across heated cheeks. 

Ezra burns inside.

He says in Luke’s ear, “there’s a sniper behind you. We blend in and move. Fast. Now.”

Ezra breaks away and Luke squeezes his hand hard. His eyes swim with urgency and fear. Ezra makes a motion to a guard to duck down, then leads Luke out of the row. 

Every step in the right direction is a gift from the gods. Every stair they descend without being detected is thanks to the Force. Every inch they gain away from the arena is worth a prayer.

Luke’s heart pounds loud when Ezra concentrates hard enough to hone in on it. Ezra holds fast to Luke and weaves through crowds naturally. He learns how Luke did it while he does it: Luke studies the wavelength of how people move, then acts against it.

Ezra hears a shot go off. It singes an arena wall.

The world erupts into chaos, and Luke practically jumps into his arms in fright. Ezra sends him a reassuring wave in the Force, and it hangs on by a thread.

The shot is from very far away. It is a tactic for the bounty hunter to buy time, to seek them out.

Ezra is ahead of whoever it is. He keeps moving with Luke latching onto him.

They reach the royal vehicles, which were abandoned. Ezra does not think beyond getting Luke back to the palace intact.

Ezra cannot pilot a landspeeder. Neither can Luke. 

But it is Luke who hops into the pilot’s seat amongst the running forms surrounding them. Civilians scatter like bugs being washed out of their underground homes.

“Come on!” Luke yells.

Ezra climbs onto the landspeeder after a beat of paralysis. He plops into the passenger’s seat beside Luke.

“You can’t pilot!” Ezra blanches.

Luke winks. “I can do this. Trust me.”

Without waiting for permission, or so much as an answer, Luke ducks down. He pops open the control board underneath the wheel. With a resounding snap between thumbnails, he breaks the wires.

“Oh,” Ezra says, “we’re going to be in so much trouble.”

Luke, the insane person, laughs. He brings two broken wires together, and a spark ignites the engine.

“Considering the circumstances,” Luke’s grin comes into full view below sparkling eyes, “I think we’ll be applauded. Now hold onto something!”

Luke brings both wires together, the engine humming while chaos bleeds in every direction. It smacks Ezra’s eardrums, but he shakes his head to concentrate on Luke.

The prince beams as his hands grip the wheel. Ezra gulps and grabs onto the side door handle, sending off a quick prayer.

Sometimes, he thinks Luke Organa is a little out of his mind.

Luke’s foot presses the brakes, and they shoot off so fast that Ezra’s heart crashes into his lungs.

“Ah!” Ezra yelps.

Luke chuckles as he weaves past civilians and other maniacal drivers. Ezra grits his teeth and shuts his eyes. He doesn’t think he can look.

That only spurs Luke to laugh louder. “This is fun!”

“Okay, crazy!” Ezra breathes erratically. “Glad you’re not having a heart attack!”

Luke teases as they leave the city behind, “we’re almost there! It’s fine!”

Despite the noise of the engine, Ezra hears the unmistakable click of blasters being cocked.

“No we’re not!” Ezra yells over the roar of the landspeeder, eyes widening. “They’re coming!”

A hover bike shoots after them, and a blaster bolt nearly clips Luke’s shoulder. His eyes fly open at the near-miss and turns the wheel.

They fly around the outskirts in a wild pattern. If not for Luke’s sense of direction, Ezra would have lost his own mind.

“There’s a staff in the back!” Luke says as the bounty hunter fails to make another shot. “Use it!”

Ezra peeks over and keeps his head low. Indeed, a golden guard staff, the kind he wielded in training, lies abandoned in the back seat.

He quickly casts an arm over his seat and grasps the staff. He turns around in his seat to get a view of the back of the landspeeder.

Not a single bolt had hit them yet. But the hover bike was still behind them.

Ezra sits with his torso protected by the back of the seat. He raises the staff horizontally.

Amidst the chase, the bounty hunter laughs through a helmeted vocoder. The female voice fires a shot directly at him. 

He holds out the staff so it twirls quickly in the back seat. A simple move with his thumb, index finger, and ring finger. 

The bolt absorbs into the staff’s gold metal. Ezra prowls on the same wavelength as Luke turns down an alleyway. He maintains the rhythm of the landspeeder moving while he concentrates on the bounty hunter.

Every subsequent shot is blocked by Ezra using the staff. Suddenly, they are out of Aldera entirely and coming up on the palace. The bounty hunter breaks away, disappearing on the hover bike into the outskirts.

Luke flies straight towards the hanger bay laughing. “We did it!”

Ezra breathes through his mouth and drops the staff in the back seat. He turns around, calming his racing heartbeat with another exhale.

“Yeah,” Ezra sighs in relief, “we did do it.”

Luke’s grin blinds Ezra’s profile, and he can’t help but chuckle shortly.

“Let’s not make a habit of that,” Ezra says, “okay?”

Luke hums noncommittally. 

As they reach the palace grounds, Ezra asks, “do you know how to stop?”

Luke is not in the least bit panicked as he chimes, “nope, but I’ll hit the brakes really hard and see what happens.”

Not a second after he says it, he presses his foot against the brakes. The landspeeder engine screeches and startles silent as they drift the final yards.

They stop inches away from Fulcrum, whose arms are crossed and mouth is pressed in a thin line of disappointment.

Undeterred, Luke pulls the wires away from each other to quiet the landspeeder. He beams at her and says flippantly, “hi, Ahsoka! You would not believe the chase we just had! Awesome!”

Ezra registers they are a short distance from the hanger bay, which had opened upon them entering palace grounds. Dozens of guards wait a long way away, with none of the royal family or palace staff making an appearance yet. It was just them and Ahsoka.

Wait...Ahsoka?

Ezra snaps his head towards Luke. “Who’s Ahsoka?”

Their teacher’s heart rate spikes, and Ezra stares at the Togruta.

“Uh,” Luke flushes beside him, “that’s our teacher’s name.” He looks apologetically at Fulcrum. “She told me that as a sign of trust. I’m sorry. I can’t hide anything from Dante.”

Ahsoka sighs, “I shouldn’t have expected anything less.” She smiles wanly at Luke. “I absolve you of your guilt.”

“Nice to meet you, Ahsoka,” Ezra chimes sincerely. He receives a smile in return.

Ezra tears his gaze from Ahsoka to look at his best friend’s profile. He purses his lips and makes a decision.

“Think I should tell her?” He asks Luke.

The prince smiles. “A first name for a first name.”

Ezra nods and says to Ahsoka confidently, “my name is Ezra.”

Ahsoka blinks. “Ezra,” she repeats. She nods and murmurs, “nice to meet you too, Ezra.”

Ezra grins, washed clean of his biggest secret from someone he trusts and adores as an aunt figure.

The moment is broken by a frantic, “oh, thank the gods!”

Bail rushes the boys, followed by Breha.

“We’re so glad you’re alright,” Breha says, breathing a sigh of relief.

Luke hops out of the landspeeder, and Ezra slips down to the ground too. Bail lifts Luke as if he were a little boy, holding him close. Breha gathers Ezra into her skirts and smooths back his windswept hair.

Breha smells of starblossom fruit and flame roses, bringing Ezra a semblance of comfort. He catches Ahsoka smirk and slip back into the palace, allowing the family this short time to themselves. Not even the guards dare to break the moment.

“I’m so proud of you,” Breha murmurs to him.

Ezra feels a swell of something he hasn’t in a long time. He cannot find the words to describe the emotion.

Luke is suddenly in Breha’s skirts too, Bail encircling them all in a giant hug.

Bail says, “Luke, you’re getting piloting lessons. Ezra, you’re being anointed as Luke’s official bodyguard tomorrow.”

Luke whoops in elation at a new task, one he’s been dreaming of for years. Bail and Breha laugh as Ezra absorbs the words.

He is going to be Luke’s bodyguard. Forever.

He smiles into Breha’s skirts. He decides he does not mind the prospect.


	6. Age 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra glances up from the datapad in his hands. His gaze lingers for a beat longer than necessary, and his lips part for a smile.
> 
> “It’s a good speech,” Ezra murmurs.
> 
> Luke arches a brow at him. “I’m waiting for the ‘but.’”
> 
> Ezra’s teeth peek out from one side of his mouth crookedly. “Why do you think there’s a ‘but’?”
> 
> “Because there’s always a ‘but’,” Luke blanches. “No speech is perfect in its first draft.”

Luke paces the empty palace library impatiently. Every second that passes only brings him more apprehension. It settles like a festering disease in Luke’s chest, like when he spent a week confined to bed rest from running around in the snow too much. The Force, unfortunately, didn’t render him immune to sickness.

“Hey,” Ezra says gently, “stop doing that. It makes me read slower. Sit down.”

Luke sighs and drops into an armchair. He clenches his fists in his lap. His nerves stand on end like the hairs on his arms. The library has a sudden chill, causing a wave of gooseflesh to rise.

He studies Ezra after a moment of silence. The first whispers of puberty are already occurring to his best friend, who proves to be an early bloomer. Ezra broadens more with every passing day, as he complains about growing pains fairly consistently. His skin tone is bold and bronze, the shade of copper statues when sunlight fell upon them. When Alderaan is in its summer season, Ezra’s skin practically glows golden; at night, it is smooth and brown. His shoulders and arms are strengthening, and his hands are calloused from handling an ornamental staff. His nose is wider and his eyes are darkening blue, the only indication that he is not an Organa. Ezra’s raven hair, which turns blue when it rains or snows, is so similar to Bail, even still, that any traits that differ between them can be ignored.

If Ezra continues on this path, Luke fears he may be a goner.

And Luke is the first to note how good the official guard uniform looks on him.

Ezra glances up from the datapad in his hands. His gaze lingers for a beat longer than necessary, and his lips part for a smile.

“It’s a good speech,” Ezra murmurs.

Luke arches a brow at him. “I’m waiting for the ‘but.’”

Ezra’s teeth peek out from one side of his mouth crookedly. “Why do you think there’s a ‘but’?”

“Because there’s always a ‘but’,” Luke blanches. “No speech is perfect in its first draft.”

“What if there is no ‘but’?” Ezra teases.

“I know there is,” Luke says, “because you cannot hide anything from me, Ezra Bridger.”

Ezra laughs, indicating his slow and steady voice change into a deeper tone. “Of course not. Why even would I?”

“The ‘but,’” Luke reminds him. “What is it?”

Ezra sets the datapad flat on his lap. The screen glows on the lower half of Ezra’s face.

“But,” Ezra says, “I would suggest using stronger words. You’re playing it safe, being passive. That’s what they want you to do. As a twelve year old prince, they expect you to recite the cute little thing you wrote and coo over you. Is that what you want?”

Luke snaps his mouth shut dumbly and shakes his head.

“Exactly,” Ezra continues, “you want to be taken seriously. You’re not some little prince. Let them see how serious you are about disbanding illegal trade rings. It’s a hard-hitting topic. Smack them with your words.”

Luke is speechless.

Ezra flushes and looks away. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. I spoke too much, and out of turn.”

“No,” Luke blurts, “you didn’t.” 

Affection is a tsunami overtaking everything inside Luke. His veins, his mind, his heart.

He smiles brightly. “Don’t apologize for being clever. I thank you for your counsel. I value it more than anyone else’s.”

Unused to being praised, Ezra blushes profusely. “I...thank you?”

Luke rises from the lounge chair and plucks the datapad from Ezra’s lap. He plops beside Ezra on the couch and inquires, “what do you suggest I change?”

Ezra clears his throat, quickly gaining control of himself. “In your first sentence, I think the word…”

-

Luke paces as he waits his turn backstage. This event is of a high caliber, but with low stakes. He is fully aware of the dozens of core worlds putting forth a young prince or duchess or leader at this event. The Coruscant chamber, usually meant for secretive Imperial meetings, is filled with prominent politicians who expect to be entertained by the youth.

Ezra is right: this event is not something taken seriously. It is Luke’s hope that he can change that.

He listens to truly wonderful speeches behind the scenes, and even doled out a few compliments. But none of the speeches has what his does: a loaded blaster followed by a sucker punch.

Luke paces rather than fidgeting. His outfit is infinitely complex, and he did not want to destroy it in any way. He wears a burgundy dress shirt buttoned to the collar, a pearl vest over it. And over that is a maroon cape adorned with a pearl dove on his lower back. His slacks are navy and his boots, laced up to the knee, are white leather. It reminds him of stormtrooper boots, and he grimaced when they were put on by his mother. His silver circlet, a ruby in the center, perches on his fluffy golden head.

The crown has never felt heavier.

Ezra pulls back the curtain and approaches. He is in full uniform: beige slacks paired with a maroon doublet. A difference with Ezra’s uniform, though, is the white stripes on his shoulders and a pearl dove on his breast pocket. 

It meant he is important to House Organa, not to be trifled with despite his age.

“You’re pale,” Ezra murmurs concernedly, stepping close so they cannot be heard. “Are you alright, Your Highness?”

Luke grimaces. “Just nervous.”

Ezra hums. “If it helps,” he grins, “you look amazing.”

Luke’s very soul burns.

No, it does not help. 

Luke clears his throat to detract a blush. “And you as well, Dante.”

Ezra glances away and makes a pointed noise in the back of his throat. “You’re up in a minute. Breathe like Auntie taught us.”

Luke snorts out a laugh. Ezra has made a habit of forming nicknames. Ahsoka is Auntie ‘Soka, to her delight. Winter is Winnie, to her disgust. Raymus is Captain Ray, which he shrugs off because it’s technically a correct way of addressing him as the pilot of Tantive IV.

Luke shuts his eyes and inhales through his nose, then exhales out of his mouth. The Force is a flurry of activity in crowded spaces, and this is no exception. If he peered into the room, he could pick out which men were dastardly and which were morally sound.

There were very few morally good beings left. Luke is privileged to have genuinely good people for adoptive parents.

Ezra hums again. “Better?”

Luke’s eyes flutter open. Ezra’s hopeful and supportive expression is the first image he sees.

“Yes,” Luke says.

There is a smattering of applause. It is his turn, now.

“Knock ‘em flat, Your Highness,” Ezra says coolly, a smirk in his eyes at the informality crashing into formality.

‘I’ll be right here,’ is the promise that goes unspoken. It resonates through their ineffably strong mental link in the Force, and it is enough.

Luke smirks and receives a wave from a guard. He glides onto the stage, cape fluttering behind him, as if he has delivered a hundred speeches before.

-

He is sure half of the audience wants to kill him.

Remaining composed, Luke waves in the proper way his mother taught him, smiling as mildly as a spring day. The picture of flowery innocence.

Even while being ushered into a hover car, gazes burn him through like knives. Luke treats them as if they are summer buzzards, brushing them away from his shoulders.

In a circular back seat of the massive enclosed hover car, Luke is pressed against the opposite window. Camera flashes cannot see him from there, hiding in a shadow.

Ezra presses against him, thigh against thigh. His carefree attitude is nonexistent, calculated gaze sweeping across the crowds.

Bail and Breha take the seats to the driver’s back. Raymus shuts the door behind them before crawling over paparazzi. They hear him start the car and knock on the divider.

The enclosed hover car speeds into the night, the Coruscant skyline brightening the pitch black.

Ezra’s tense shoulders loosen, but he keeps an ear trained to the Force. There is no true time for him to rest until they are stowed away in a safe place. The entire planet of Coruscant does not count as safe. It is the worst possible place for double agents to be caught. Especially with Darth Vader lurking in the shadows.

Luke remembers his presence well enough from the last time they nearly brushed paths. Bail was presenting a bill alongside the Senator of Naboo, and Vader allowed its passage. Luke and Ezra never left the confines of Bail’s apartment, forced to meditate to conceal their Force presence.

Vader’s Force presence was a monster. A cloud of smoke and darkness and poison. Luke fears if he gets close to it, the cloud will swallow him whole.

Now that their powers are under their complete control, Luke and Ezra didn’t have to worry as much. They hardly had to concentrate to conceal their Force presence for long durations of time.

Luke realizes no one has spoken since they entered the hover car. He turns away from the dazzling city lights and purses his lips.

Ezra sends him a smile. At least Ezra is proud of the speech they had worked on together.

His adoptive parents, though? They couldn’t stop staring at Luke.

He blinks. “What?” Luke asks blankly.

Bail sighs deeply. “I have to be honest, Luke,” he scratches at the gray hairs appearing on his temples, “I was not expecting this from you.”

Luke is unsure where Bail stands, even with his Force abilities. His father’s tone contains multitudes. It would take time that he did not have to pick apart each individual emotion and examine it based upon the topic of discussion.

So Luke simply blinks. “Okay.”

Bail stares. “Okay?”

Breha looks between the two, as does Ezra. Both are at a loss of what to do.

Luke smiles sweetly. “Thank you for the learning experience, Dad.”

“Learning experience?” Now Bail’s tone is laced with danger. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now.” He throws up his hands. “What you just did was…was…”

“Awesome?” Ezra dares to prompt.

Luke catches Breha’s smirk before Bail shoots Ezra a look. Ezra clams up and bows his head, falling silent.

“Flagrant,” Bail says, each adjective smacking Luke in the face. “Dangerous. Foolish. I don’t quite think you understand the scope of what you’ve done.”

“Bail,” Breha murmurs upon seeing Luke wince.

Still, Luke is undeterred by the talk. “At least I did something,” he points out.

He can see his father’s nostrils flare, even in the darkness.

“Doing something,” Bail says, “is when you go to the planets yourself to take an active role in disbandment, not simply making a speech.”

Luke tips part of his head against the glass window. “I know that. A speech is a mere first step into an active role, is it not? I have taken that first step by being...what was that word? Flagrant? By being flagrant.”

“Oh, Luke,” Bail sighs, “you’ve garnered more attention than you are prepared to deal with. Not at such a young age.”

Luke does not want to think about the prospect of being followed by paparazzi. He uses an avoidance tactic.

“Any attention on a worthy cause will promote good changes,” Luke says breezily, “so I will take whatever fall I must.”

There is silence, and Ezra brushes their shoulders together in solidarity. 

Breha says gently, “he’s growing up, Bail. Let him grow.”

Bail straightens in his seat. “Fine,” he says coolly.

Luke decides he will not let this be a death sentence. He will deal with repercussions, and he will conduct himself admirably while doing so.

————

Breha Organa stares into a vanity mirror while Winter ties her mass of brunette hair into a series of complex braids.

She does not expect her boys to grow up so fast until they are almost gone from her influence entirely. Ezra Bridger was growing at an alarming rate, while Luke Amidala-Skywalker remains largely unchanged. An early and a late bloomer.

Breha is the first to admit that Luke is her baby. It was her that coddled Luke, sang to him when he wailed, slept beside his crib when he needed closeness. She raised that darling boy to be kind and gentle and unyielding in his beliefs. Luke is her sweet little prince, the boy who makes flower arrangements and brings food to the poor in the city and wants to improve the galaxy.

She did not expect to grow so attached to Ezra, as well. The boy joined them so late, at seven years old, that Breha didn’t know how to speak to him at first. She could not relate to a boy whose already lost his entire world.

When she did speak to him, though, his friendliness took her aback. While shy those first days in the palace, Ezra did not retreat into himself and become frigid.

Breha found that Ezra didn’t mind a hug or a stray cheek kiss here and there. Everyone deserves affection, and no one deserves it more than him.

It shocks Breha how integral Ezra is in their family unit. Bail and Luke rub each other the wrong way on occasion, leaving Breha and Ezra to work together as a mediator. Just as well when Bail and Breha argue; Luke is too upset to step in, but Ezra, to her relief, does.

Breha thought she had no room in her heart left to love another boy. Luke was enough.

But then, Ezra. And Ezra made Breha feel truly fulfilled as a mother.

Ezra still calls her Breha. And that is fine. His parents are his parents, no matter how long gone they remain. 

Luke calls her Mom. One day, she would have to tell him his true parentage. Luke was content having the king and queen as his parents, though. Breha does not want to rush things, or ruin Luke’s blissful ignorance.

The time of transformation was already happening. Breha wants to hold both of her boys tight and force them to stay with her forever.

But she cannot. She would have to make the most of every moment she has with her adopted sons.

Winter smooths out Breha’s chosen Alderaanian hairstyle for the day’s schedule. Since Bail is away for a month of Senate sessions, the duties of the crown rest entirely on her shoulders. To her, it is as easy as securing a pin in her hair.

“Your Majesty,” Winter bows her head, “may I go over the itinerary?”

Breha rises from the ottoman in front of her vanity. Winter sidesteps to give her room to air out her pomegranate skirts.

“Yes,” she says, “you may as we walk.”

————

Mon Mothma clicks through reports from every Rebel cell stationed throughout the galaxy. Her inbox is exploding with high-priority reports. Her holo screen keeps her chained to her desk throughout most of the afternoon.

As Mon sifts through encrypted messages, she realizes she has not heard from Bail Organa in several weeks.

A check with the news holos is all she needs to know. The Senate is in session.

And Luke Organa stirred a very...fortuitous concoction with his first official speech as a young prince. 

Mon chooses a news story at random and bristles at Luke’s image. 

She has not seen the boy in person since he was a sleeping newborn in Bail’s rigid arms. Luke is the spitting image of his father.

His birth father, not his adoptive one.

As a holo auto-plays, Luke’s scathing tone has Mon rolling back in her chair.

Luke may have the physical attributes of his father, but that voice is his mother’s. Mon’s old friend, the beloved Queen-turned-Senator who died far too soon.

Mon’s mind is thrown into the deep end, unable to register Luke’s words. Just his tone. His fire. His defiance. His calculated breeziness.

The soul of Padmé Amidala remains within this boy. It gives Mon more comfort than she can admit to herself.

————

Ezra is thrown into a basement with a sack tied around his head. The durasteel door shrieks as it shuts, then clicks as it locks him in.

His heart pounds in his throat, his mouth aching with all the screams he never voiced. He swallows thickly as his heart throbs.

He breathes, then slowly unties his binds. They are loosened on purpose. He plucks the sack off his head.

Ezra is on the right side of a basement. There is a divider wall separating the left side.

The yin to Luke’s yang, if he recalls Ahsoka’s lesson correctly.

‘The reason you both work so well together,’ Ahsoka said as they meditated in midair, ‘is because of the yin-yang belief of the old Jedi. It is one of the few beliefs I take with me.’

Ahsoka circles them as they listen and remain floating while criss-cross.

‘The yin and yang are two halves of a single whole. The yin is black, the yang is white. The yin is the moon, the yang is the sun.’ 

Ahsoka brushes Ezra’s shoulders with her fingers. The distraction does not work, and Ezra holds steady. 

‘Ezra,’ she says, ‘you are yin due to the twin moons on your home planet.’

Ahsoka approaches Luke a pace away. She tries to distract him into opening his eyes and breaking concentration.

Luke passes the test as well.

‘Luke,’ she says, ‘you are yang due to your brightness in the Force.’

Ahsoka moves to stand between them. Ezra and Luke remain undisturbed in their meditation.

‘Do you see?’ Ahsoka asks rhetorically. ‘There is always a balance. Whether it be good or evil, Jedi or Sith, or something as simple as two souls complementing one another.’

Ezra struggles to his feet in the basement, searching for anomalies in his surroundings. The floor and walls and ceiling are dingy and gray. All he has is a bucket, a blanket, and a sink.

Whoever grabbed them has been planning this for a while.

“Hello?”

Ezra whirls towards the divider wall. His heart skips in relief when he recognizes the voice.

He practically trips over himself and drops to his knees. He leans against the divider wall, cheek ghosting the cement.

Somehow, he knows Luke is in the same exact position as him.

“Luke,” he breathes, “stay quiet. Around whisper level. Alright?”

Luke sniffles, and Ezra’s heart is crushed by a massive boot. “Okay,” Luke murmurs, sounding like a small child again.

His fear is a toxic gas, and Ezra nearly chokes on the smoke.

“Hey,” Ezra soothes, “we’ll be okay, I swear to you. We’re the yin and yang, remember?”

Luke inhales sharply, pausing to possibly wipe away tears. “Yeah,” he says thickly, “we are.”

“Now let’s think,” Ezra says, “put our heads together.”

“I think,” Luke says, “this is that bounty hunter we escaped after the race. It’s the only person who’s tried to kill me.”

Ezra gasps. “You’re right. Luke, you’re right.”

A metal door screeches open, and it is not Ezra’s.

“Stay calm, Luke,” Ezra whispers through the wall.

He dips into the Force and sees that Luke heeded his warning. His vitals are steady and calm.

A metal tray is placed in Luke’s room. Then the door closes.

Luke sighs in relief. “They’re coming to your side next.”

Ezra murmurs, “hang on a minute, then.”

He rises to his feet and sits criss-cross on the blanket. It is red plaid mixed with white and gray lines.

His metal door screeches open.

A Trandoshan sets down a metal tray of food wordlessly.

Ezra is having none of that. “What’s your goal here, Unidentified Bounty Hunter Number One?”

The reptilian creature stares at the boy as if trying to dissect him with lizard eyes. Clicking sounds indicate the man is speaking his language. And since Luke and Ezra are multilingual, Ezra can catch the gist.

“Some important people want the prince dead.”

“Yeah,” Ezra says with a shrug, “but who, exactly? I need to make a list of His Highness’s enemies for future reference.”

The Trandoshan snickers. “You would make an adorable pet.”

Ezra rolls his eyes. “Is this about the race?”

The bounty hunter bristles. “Not exclusively.”

Ezra hums. “I think I have the whole picture now. Stop me if I’m wrong.” He clears his throat. “One of your buddies failed to assassinate the prince. I know it wasn’t you on that hover bike. It was a woman.”

The Trandoshan sweats.

“You decided to make this fun little dungeon,” Ezra continues, “when you realized I never leave my prince’s side. Your lady friend wants revenge, and in order to get it, you have to kidnap both of us. But then,” he pauses for dramatic purposes, “one of the fancy people at that Coruscant youth event heard the prince’s speech and decided he, or she, wants His Highness’s head on a spike. You and your partner, with immense glee, take the opportunity to torture us a little before you hand us over to your boss. So,” he clicks his tongue, “on a scale of one to ten, how well did I do?”

The Trandoshan growls. “You talk too much, little boy.”

The door shrieks shut behind him.

Ezra smiles at himself. He thinks he received a perfect score!

————

Luke listens to the conversation by pressing his cheek to the divider wall. When the bounty hunter leaves Ezra, he knocks on the wall once.

“You’re going to get yourself killed!” Luke hisses.

Ezra lowers himself to Luke’s level on his side of the wall. “Don’t worry, Your Highness,” Ezra says breezily, “I’ll get us out of here.”

“Cocky, much?” Luke mutters.

“Let’s just say,” Ezra replies amusedly, “I have a good feeling about this.”

Luke makes a ‘psh’ sound. “I can’t have you devaluing your life based on a half-baked escape plan.”

Ezra falls silent.

Luke stands and says purposefully, “I’m going to look around.”

He canvases the basement room acting as a cell. He senses movement outside the door, so he searches frantically for a sign.

The Force nudges him towards the door. It is so old that it acts on hinges.

Oh.

Luke smiles.

Hinges can be screwed off.

With thin fingers, Luke pinches the top of a nail. It is rusted metal, and he spins it slowly with his thumb and index finger. He does not rush it, and finally feels the nail coming loose.

Luke exhales through his mouth in relief. He shuts his eyes and pokes Ezra through the Force.

He sends Ezra a message through their Force bond: “the door has hinges.”

Luke hears frantic footsteps behind the divider wall. A beat of silence, and he can imagine Ezra’s smile.

“You’re a genius,” Ezra whispers through the wall, “and I adore you.”

Luke refuses to think about what that might mean. Ezra only says what he says. Nothing further. That’s it.

Luke finishes unscrewing the nail from the door hinge a few moments later. The door does not give an indication it has been tampered with. There is a second nail, but it does not have to be removed.

One flaw, and the mechanism falls apart. That’s what Luke learned from Raymus in his piloting lessons.

‘You cannot do your job,’ Raymus said, ‘if people before you do not complete theirs. Every starship, every landspeeder, every vehicle requires dozens of mechanics to build. You cannot be a good pilot if the mechanics and parts are not good.’

Luke senses two heartbeats in the area. They are above their heads, on the ground floor of a run-down apartment.

He holds onto the nail and finds the control panel. A piece of metal prevents Luke from tapping the buttons to unlock security protocols. The door could open manually, but Luke wants to be as silent as possible. The door will not be as loud if the control panel works.

“Luke,” Ezra hisses, “how’s it going on your side?”

“Good,” he says quietly. “What about you?”

“Good,” Ezra chimes.

Luke shoves the pointed end of the nail into a control panel screw. It pops open the metal guard, revealing the pad.

He refrains from smiling just yet. He shuffles over to the divider wall.

“I’m ready,” Luke says, “are you?”

Ezra hums in affirmative. “On three.”

“One,” Luke starts.

“Two,” Ezra murmurs.

“Three,” they say.

Their doors open and land against the frame. It is still quiet, and Luke steps out of the makeshift cell.

Ezra is beside him, grinning at Luke. It is a blissful couple seconds, where Luke almost forgets where they are.

Ezra advances, expression transforming into a blank slate. A quick boyish grin, then he is the official bodyguard for Prince Luke Organa.

“They’re here,” Ezra says measuredly, “so we have to find another-”

The sound of a humming blade in the room above their heads has Luke emitting a squeak.

There’s only one thing that could be.

Ezra’s hand curls around Luke’s and squeezes. “It’s Auntie ‘Soka. She’s found us.”

Eyes blown wide, Luke breathes apprehensively, “we should find the stairs.”

Ezra inclines his head in agreement. He steps past Luke and takes the lead. Their hands do not leave each other’s as they walk quietly.

Blaster bolts are fired above them, followed by the whiz of dual blades. Things are broken. Bodies are pushed against walls and crash on the floor.

They find stairs at the end of a hallway. Ezra halts them, Luke peeking over his shoulder. 

Windows shatter, two bodies leaping out of them. Luke senses they are the bounty hunters who kidnapped them.

Twin blades are shut off with a whoosh.

“Boys?!” Ahsoka yells frantically. “Are you in here?”

“Coming, ‘Soka,” Ezra croaks, squeezing Luke’s hand again. 

Ezra guides them up the stairs, Luke practically burrowing into Ezra’s back. For now, Ezra is strong enough for both of them. Luke just wants to go home.

They reach the top of the stairs and the sliding door opens. Luke takes in Ahsoka’s ferocity, her feral anger becoming controlled and concerned upon seeing them.

The pair of them must look pitiful.

Ahsoka clips her lightsaber hilts on both sides of her belt. The curved metal swings around her thighs.

She exhales and holds out her arms. Her eyes mist over.

Luke has never seen Ahsoka cry before. It scares him.

But she does not let a single tear fall. She simply says, “come here, boys. It’s alright. You’re safe now.”

Ezra exhales through his nose, then brings Luke over to Ahsoka. The Togruta gathers them into a group hug. Luke tucks his chin over her left shoulder, and Ezra does the same with her right shoulder.

Ahsoka melts into them, arms squeezing them tight. “Did they hurt you?”

Luke shakes his head.

“Who were they?” Ezra asks hollowly.

“Bossk and Aurra Sing,” Ahsoka replies, “two of the most notorious bounty hunters in the galaxy.”

“That means they’ll be back,” Ezra sighs.

Luke feels a hand grip his heart and squeeze.

He prays that isn’t the case.


	7. Age 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She turns around, both boys now standing behind her confusedly. Ezra’s eyes linger on the cliffside while Luke purses his lips at her.
> 
> Ahsoka says, “today is your most important test. You will receive your kyber crystals to ignite your lightsabers. You will become official Padawans of the Jedi Order.”

Ahsoka uses both hands to secure backpack straps as she walks. The mountain terrain, even on the ground level, is steep and rigid. Muted craggy rocks match the cloudy sky, which brings signs of a rainstorm to occur later in the night. The sky is not blue, but silver-gray like Alderaan’s moon.

The color palette is not one Ahsoka would have chosen for today, but it had to be done. Her boys are going off to Naboo for an extended stay alongside Bail.

Ahsoka glances at the boy formerly known as Dante Organa to her right, the yin, Ezra. He walks a pace behind Ahsoka to search for danger. His sixth sense is so perfected at this point that Ahsoka thinks he can sense a blaster being cocked from miles away.

Ezra has grown like a weed since his twelfth birthday. Now that he is thirteen going on fourteen, he has become a...she is not afraid to admit it...charming and genuine soul. Ezra’s abilities are sharper than a knife, and his defensive maneuvers with a guard staff are the best in the entire palace. Adults with thrice as much experience as him took their hats off to Ezra.

But he is not cocky with his skills. He knows he is powerful, but humbles himself by saying Luke is twice as powerful.

And Luke Organa, the yang to her left, was indeed more powerful. Due in part to his origins, but also because of his own dedication to the art of wielding the Force without need of a physical weapon. As he walks ahead of Ahsoka, climbing onto a craggy rock to look forward, Ahsoka knows Luke’s abilities are unparalleled. He has so much power, but he rarely uses it. When he does need to, it is used with wisdom uncharacteristic of a thirteen year old. 

Luke has grown up in a short span of time as well, puberty finally catching up with the skinny sickly prince. His body is slender but sturdy, his height short but commanding the attention of thousands. His voice is soft but mature, his facial structure is delicate but tanned. His hair, taking on wisps of light brown alongside gold, frames his face, adorned with freckles in the sun and dimples when he smiled crookedly.

Ahsoka would describe Luke as...well...dreamy.

She thinks Luke knows it too. But whenever he is complimented, he shrugs it off.

And yet, Luke has the guts and gumption to declare proudly to his adoptive parents, ‘when I’m of age, I want princes only, no princesses!’

The proclamation startled neither Bail nor Breha, from what Ahsoka gathered by the sudden scene she witnessed after dinner.

Luke could stride out of the room with a dizzying smile on his face, but he still thinks of himself as a little boy-prince.

That is why Ahsoka must do her ultimate lesson today. They are out of time; Luke and Ezra need to pass the trial she set up for them. 

They were given time to construct the hilts. Now is time for the blade.

Ahsoka is unsure what color their crystals will be. They will both have two; she wonders if the colors will split or blend.

The group reaches a cliffside. Ahsoka looks up at the distance Luke and Ezra would have to climb to reach the cave.

It will separate them, Ahsoka is sure of it. She wants the cave to do that despite her overprotective instincts. Luke cannot rely on Ezra for protection either, and both will have a different fear to overcome on their own.

Ahsoka thinks she knows what their fear will be, but she will have to be patient if they wish to confide in her about what they see in the dark.

She turns around, both boys now standing behind her confusedly. Ezra’s eyes linger on the cliffside while Luke purses his lips at her.

Ahsoka says, “today is your most important test. You will receive your kyber crystals to ignite your lightsabers. You will become official Padawans of the Jedi Order.”

Ezra squints his eyes at her critically. “Only Padawans? Come on, ‘Soka.” He grins. “We’ve been your Padawans for seven years.”

Luke stares at Ezra. He says breezily, “if you even have to ask that question, then we truly are younglings.”

Ezra shoots Luke a look. He teases, “I know you are, but what am I?”

Luke makes a ‘psh’ sound and turns the other cheek primly. He asks sweetly, “what is the test, Ahsoka?”

She points up the cliff. “Climb into the cave and find out. It’s in the Force’s hands now.”

“Yeesh,” Ezra says, “I don’t like this ominousness already.”

Luke advances closer to Ahsoka, securing his backpack and tipping his head up. There is a gust of wind in the air, which will hinder their ascent if they climb. Luke knows it just as well as her; he studies the limestone and ash in the mountains, frowning at the lack of footholds.

He does not despair. He backpedals, gaze not leaving the top of the cliff. He says to Ezra, “I’ll see you at the top, loser.”

Then, Luke runs forward and leaps. So high that Ahsoka’s jaw drops.

Luke is a black-clothed blur that recedes in Ahsoka’s vision. She hears his feet land smoothly at the top of the cliff, where the cave awaits.

Ezra snorts. “Show off,” he mutters.

Ahsoka gives Ezra a look. He falls silent and backpedals. He runs and leaps, only high enough to reach the cliff face.

Ahsoka waits.

————

Ezra feels himself being forcibly torn away from Luke as they enter the cave side-by-side. It is so jarring and jolting that he trips over himself.

He recovers quickly and advances in the darkness. He does not know how far or long he walks.

But a humming lightsaber, a beam of bleeding red light, is suddenly all Ezra can see.

He jumps, the crimson searing into his eyeballs. He steps back as the red light illuminates a black figure.

Darth Vader.

The breathing mask reverberates throughout Ezra’s ribcage, in perfect time with his throbbing heartbeat. 

The lightsaber arches to curl at a figure in front of his chest. Vader’s arm locks this figure closer to him while he whimpers.

The glow of the lightsaber reveals it is Luke.

Ezra exhales, “Luke!”

Luke does not hear him, eyes squeezed shut as tears roll down his smooth cheeks. He winces and curls into Vader’s chestplate.

“No!” Ezra grits his teeth.

With everything he has, Ezra advances. He grabs the lightsaber hilt clipped to his belt. 

It ignites, even without a crystal.

Ezra cannot see anything else but Vader pressing that lightsaber close to Luke’s neck. He needs to get Luke away from him!

He throws out an arm, the Force from his hand wrenching Vader away from Luke. Vader falls to his knees, buffeted by an invisible storm.

Luke is curled up in a ball on the ground. He does not look at Ezra as he crouches down.

“Luke,” Ezra murmurs. He refrains from touching him. “It’s alright. It’s okay. He’s gone. He’s-”

The lightsaber slashes towards them, but Ezra meets it with his own.

His blade is blue.

But wait...he has another blade.

Ezra ignites the other side of the hilt, and a blazing yellow crystal pushes Vader back further.

Vader falls, and Ezra stands over him. As soon as the power simmers inside Ezra, he shuts off the lightsaber.

He does not strike.

Vader fades into nothingness, seeping into the dark cave floor.

He turns around, and a transparent Luke remains, peeking up at him hesitantly.

Luke struggles to his feet and stares at him. Silent tears roll down his cheeks, and he is utterly paralyzed.

Ezra knows he isn’t real. He can’t help but send him a soft smile, anyway.

That’s when Ezra has an epiphany: Luke is no damsel. Quite the opposite, in fact.

A new light fills the darkness: Luke’s own light, his soul expanding into the outer realm, glowing in his chest. Ezra sees the false Luke grin as he fades away, the light going with him.

He is in darkness again, until two shining lights hover near his chest.

He steps back and holds out a hand. The small lights sink into his palm. They do not burn like he expected.

Kyber crystals are the purest white Ezra has ever seen. They nearly blind him.

He closes his fingers around them, obscuring the light. Through the cracks between his fingers, they light his way forward.

Ezra walks and walks, until a breeze tickles his cheeks. He stops in the middle of a circular chamber.

Somehow, he knows what to do.

He uses the Force to unclip his lightsaber, allowing it to hover near his hands. The hilt was forged from old starship metal, parts that Raymus replaced during the Tantive IV’s refreshment. The starship only brings him fond memories, like when he first stepped onto it after losing everything on Lothal. Since Luke’s engineering skills were incredible and Ezra enjoyed learning new things, Ezra created the dual hilt himself. It reminds him of wielding his staff, which he could already do well enough. It was important to find comfort where he can.

Ezra dropped one crystal into the left side, and the other in the right. Something inside the metal secures the kyber crystals into the hilt.

A humming in tandem with his heartbeat precedes a bird call.

It is the lightsaber.

Ezra grasps the hilt, and his command in the Force ignites both sides of the blade.

One side is blue, and the other is yellow.

Ezra exhales for the first time in a full minute. Ahsoka taught him what each lightsaber color means. Blue is the color of the guardian, and yellow is the color of strength in the Light.

The blue is what he hoped for, but the yellow?

Now that’s interesting.

Ezra didn’t find himself particularly...strong. But the Force thought he was. So it must be true.

Ezra shuts off his lightsaber, clips it to his belt, and follows the path of light.

————

The sound of blasters being cocked is what spurs Luke to rush forward in the cave’s darkness. He runs until he hears the humming of a blade.

The blade is black as pitch, white outlining the curve of the ignited kyber crystal. What little light remains are transparent blood veins eaten up by the dark blade’s core. 

Luke has never seen any lightsaber like it before.

It illuminates the mask of a being wearing Mandalorian armor. Luke wonders if this Mandalorian is important.

The unknown being faces him, then brings the ignited blade towards a line of stormtroopers clad in black armor.

The blade is a Darksaber. And the stormtroopers are Death Troopers.

A flash of coldness prickles Luke’s skin as the Mandalorian reaches targets behind the Death Troopers. The troops remain frozen in time, blasters prepared to pull the trigger at whoever was in front of them.

The Darksaber casts gray light on multiple figures forced to their knees.

The first is Bail. His father’s Senatorial clothes are dirty and muddy, a bleeding cut across his cheek. He clenches his jaw and looks right into the barrel of the blaster being pointed at him.

Defiant to the last.

But Luke’s voice jumps out of his throat. “Dad!”

The Darksaber moves on to the second figure. It is Breha. Her navy dress lies in tatters all around her, and her hair mats across her dirty face. Her skin is pale, but her eyes glint fearlessly.

Luke’s voice becomes a whimper as he dares to step forward. “Mom…”

Orange skin and blue-white montrals are illuminated by the Darksaber third. Defenseless and downtrodden, it is a muted Ahsoka.

She would never bow to the Empire…

And finally, the fourth figure. He is so waxy and lifeless that he looks half-dead already. His shaggy hair hangs over his dim eyes, framing sallow cheeks that indicate mistreatment in more ways than one.

“Ezra,” Luke breathes. 

The Darksaber ghosts all four of their backs, the Mandalorian directing his attention to the Death Troopers.

The Mandalorian inclines his head.

Luke screams.

His entire body shoots forward in a contortion as his scream makes the entire cave shake. 

The world slows, and the sound reverberates, loosening dirt from the ceiling. He is in the middle of a loudspeaker, feeling the wavelengths vibrate around him.

Luke exhales shakily, his throat burning from something that isn’t real.

What he just saw isn’t real. He knows it. Ahsoka would never give herself up like that. Ezra would never become so defeated. His parents would never surrender.

Luke shuts his eyes and straightens his posture. He stands and breathes deeply, the cave righting itself once more. The room no longer quakes.

He breathes again, then slowly opens his eyes. 

The Force is a cosmic energy all around him. Encircling him, expanding outward from his chest, swirling to protect him.

A light protrudes from his chest, and Luke stares down at it, eyes widening, breath hitching.

The light dims, and dims, until two small lights remain. Luke opens both of his palms. The lights float into them, and they do not brand his skin.

Somehow, Luke knows what to do.

He uses the Force to unclip two lightsaber hilts. He decided to take Ahsoka’s lead by having dual lightsabers instead of a staff or a single. Ahsoka taught him that kind souls require extra protection.

The hilts are made of metal from various places. Spare parts of the Tantive IV, a gutted royal landspeeder, a broken starfighter. Luke took a piece of everything and welded everything together. He wanted to represent the galaxy in his hilts.

He drops a kyber crystal into the right side, his dominant side. He drops the second crystal into the left hilt.

He grabs the right hilt and uses the Force.

A green blade glows infinitely bright in the darkness. The blade of the peacemaker.

He grabs the left hilt and ignites the blade.

It is white, as white as a searing star, as white as a pearl dove, as white as Alderaan’s royal color, as white as a supernova.

The blade of service.

Luke exhales a breath he’s been holding, and crosses both lightsabers together. He lingers on the image, and does nothing more. He shuts down the lightsabers and clips them on his belt.

A light path guides him forward, and as he walks, Luke makes a vow to himself.

Never use these lightsabers unless it is unavoidable.

————

Ahsoka knows they passed the test when the sky is no longer gray. A brewing rainstorm dissipates when the clouds lose all moisture. Gray becomes white, and the sky turns a soft blue.

She can hear the weather holos remarking on the miracles in her head already.

She sits criss-cross on a protruding rock at the base of the cliff. Her backpack is in her lap as she lightly meditates. She presses her palms against the dusty marble-like limestone and levitates a tad.

The skies are clear. They will arrive back at any moment.

Ahsoka seeks to question them both when they return. But she knows she must refrain. No matter how concerned she would always be for her boys, some things had to be kept to themselves.

She was unsure if this test would even work. The Force has a finicky relationship with her.

There is a spike of activity in the Force. She opens her eyes and tips her head up, hopping off the rock and standing on her feet.

Luke lands with the Force floating him down the cliff. His expression is pensive and serious.

Ahsoka only knows he is alright by the twin hilts hooked to his belt. They curve around his thighs like hers, and it still makes her uncomfortable that the prince chose to emulate her above all the other Jedi she’s taught him about.

Before Ahsoka can open her mouth, a breeze brushes across their cheeks. Both look to the side, and Ezra walks towards them on ground level. He strides with light steps, the wind gust disappearing when he arrives grimacing.

“Well,” he says sarcastically, “that was fun, I guess.”

The Force showed them their worst fears; it was what they needed to see. Ahsoka would always trust in the Light side of the Force to guide her boys on the correct path.

“You go first, then,” Luke challenges lightly. 

Ezra gapes at the prince. But he unclips his lightsaber anyway, snapping his mouth shut. He holds the hilt at a horizontal angle.

A blue and yellow blade burst forth from the double-sided hilt.

Ahsoka bristles incredulously, gaze transfixed on the colors.

“Ooh,” Luke steps forward, beaming like a curious child, “that’s neat. Yellow is a really rare color, Ezra.”

“Well,” Ezra says haughtily, flipping his hair jokingly, “I’m a rare kinda guy.”

Luke busts out laughing at him.

Ezra shoots him a mock-offended look, then shuts off his lightsaber. “Your turn, Your Highness.”

Luke holds a lightsaber hilt in each hand, and Ahsoka recovers from her stupor. Luke concentrates, and both blades ignite.

Green and white are as bright as a blazing sun burning the moisture out of Ahsoka’s eyeballs.

Ezra stares wide-eyed at Luke, mouth falling into a familiar grin. “Alright, that’s pretty cool, I have to admit. I want to trade.”

Luke snorts. “Because it’s bright and pretty?”

Ezra hesitates. “Maybe…”

Luke laughs mockingly again. He shuts off the lightsabers. He turns to Ahsoka, which prompts Ezra to do the same.

Ahsoka realizes she had not spoken this entire time. She is dumbstruck by the split color blades, but not entirely surprised.

She schools her expression and says coolly, “you have passed the Force’s test. You are my Padawans in the eyes of the old Jedi. You have accomplished something wonderful today.” She smiles. “You are ready for Naboo.”

————

Pooja Naberrie holds her daughter’s hand as they pass through the alcove. Lola, with her little legs, keeps to her mother’s frantic pace admirably. 

The double doors are opened by two guards, and she is intercepted by her older sister.

“Are the rooms prepared?” Pooja asks breathlessly. “They are arriving sooner than expected.”

Ryoo Naberrie nods to calm her. “Do not worry, dear sister. Everything is in place, save for you.” She sends a smirk to Lola. “But when is your mother ever ready, huh?”

Lola giggles, and Pooja huffs. She allows Ryoo to guide her daughter to the front doors of the Lake Country house.

Pooja rushes to a mirror, a maid aiding her in fixing her skirts. Lola often clutched the fabric and hid behind it as a game. Her dress was Nubian silk, a sunflower yellow fanning out to an orchid purple-pink. Silver metal bracelets adorn her arms, and an amethyst necklace matches floral earrings. Her hair is secured by a metallic contraption leaving the rich brown strands in a suspended twist.

The maid leaves briskly and Pooja strides to the greeting room. Her staff is lined up with smoothed-out uniforms. Ryoo holds Lola’s hand lightly. 

The doorman sends Pooja a nod. Pooja stands on her daughter’s unoccupied side as the double doors swing open.

Bail enters wearing standard maroon-white garb, representing his planet of Alderaan with the very best foot forward. He advances, smiling at the women.

As the head of this particular house, Pooja steps forward and curtsies. “Welcome, Your Highness. It is lovely to have you here.” She glances at her sister. “Do you remember my older sister, Ryoo?”

“I do,” Bail says with a smile, inclining his head at the woman, “good to see you.”

“And you,” Ryoo echoes genuinely, “Your Highness.”

“There’s no need for formalities among friends,” Bail says smoothly. “Now who’s the little girl hiding behind your skirts?”

Pooja laughs and cups a hand behind Lola’s head. “This is my Lola. I apologize. She’s a shy child.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” Bail smiles and kneels to her level. Lola peeks out from behind Pooja’s dress. “Hello, Lola. I’m Bail Organa. Wonderful to meet you.”

“H-hi,” Lola chimes.

“No need to be afraid of my stature,” Bail says amusedly, “I’m a gentle giant.”

Lola steps forward, then remembers her manners by inclining her head. “Your Highness.”

“Princess,” Bail says back with a bowed head.

He rises to his feet and turns to a guard. “Bring them both in.”

A guard disappears out the door and Bail’s smile grows tight and worried.

“I’m hoping it’s alright for my son’s bodyguard to come along,” Bail says. “He’s been in a precarious position ever since-”

“The youth speech?” Pooja laughs, and Ryoo snickers. “When I heard that running on the news holos, I realized I liked him already. He can have his bodyguard.”

No sooner did the words leave Pooja’s mouth that two teenage boys are ushered into the foyer. The prince is dressed down for security reasons, wearing a beige cossack shirt and maroon leggings. His eyes are bright and bold gray-blue, his skin adopting a tan pallor in the sunlight. His hair is fluffy and golden, framing a drawn and freckled face. His easy smile highlights two dimples on a corner of his crooked mouth.

The first word that comes to Pooja’s mind is ‘dreamy.’

The teenager to his side, though, causes Pooja to pause. When Bail mentioned a bodyguard, he did not say it is a boy the same age as the prince.

This bodyguard looks a lot like Bail. If Pooja did not know what Luke looked like and was asked to choose which of the two is the prince, she would choose incorrectly.

Perhaps that is the point.

The bodyguard wears a special Alderaanian uniform from a typical guard: a maroon doublet adorned with white shoulder stripes and a pearl dove on the breast pocket, as well as beige pants armed with a utility belt. His skin is golden brown, his hair thick and black, his eyes cerulean, his nose wide, and his brows prominent. His demeanor, though, betrays anyone taking him seriously.

Perhaps that is another point. To make the boy seem harmless right until he’s cutting off a finger with a paring knife.

Yet, the word that comes to Pooja’s mind is ‘charming.’

The bodyguard hangs back at the entrance while Luke steps forward. He stands beside his father and smiles at the three women in turn.

“My son,” Bail introduces, “Prince Luke Organa.”

Before Bail could say their names, Luke beams at Pooja. She is nearly knocked flat on her feet at the genuineness in his smile.

“Senator Naberrie,” he says in a gentle voice, “I’m delighted to finally meet you. Your speeches are some of the best in the past decade.”

Pooja is affronted. “Are they really?” Pooja refrains from giggling, settling for a smile instead. “That’s so kind of you.”

“Oh,” Luke smiles at Ryoo, “and you manage the Nubian archives. A pleasure, Miss Naberrie.”

Ryoo, who normally wore a sour face, smiles genuinely at the prince. “I love your enthusiasm, Prince Organa. It is much appreciated in my line of work.”

Luke finally catches sight of Lola, and grins down at the little girl. “Hi! I’m Luke Organa.” He kneels down to her level. Pooja is shocked to see Lola draw towards him, not hide away. “What’s your name?”

Lola’s pale skin flushes pink. Her hand covers her mouth daintily as her feet shift curiously.

“Lola,” she murmurs behind her splayed fingers.

“Hi, Lola,” Luke says sweetly, “wonderful to meet you.” He glances up at Pooja from his spot on the ground and comments, “she looks so much like you!”

And Luke looks nothing like Bail, Pooja can’t help but think.

Luke sends Lola another smile before murmuring, “I’ll see you around, sweetheart.”

He rises to his feet, and Lola stares up at him in awe. Pooja is taken aback at how enthralled her daughter is with the prince.

“There’s someone you’re forgetting to introduce,” Ryoo says pointedly, nudging her head to the bodyguard lingering by the doorman.

“Ah,” Bail motions to the bodyguard, who inclines his head to the group upon receiving their attention, “this is a relative of mine, Dante Organa. He is the prince’s loyal bodyguard, and has lived in the palace alongside him for seven years.” Bail emphasizes, “he can be trusted.”

Pooja thinks the jury is still out on that one.

-

Pooja wanders the massive Varykino property searching for her daughter after her lessons. She looks in all the usual places: the library, the study, and the living space beside the kitchen. Lola is not in any of them, so she walks aimlessly.

The sound of piano notes guides her to a rarely-used chamber. Pooja peeks through the ajar door and bristles.

Luke sits beside Lola on the piano bench. An easy smile is on Luke’s face as he bends over and softly instructs Lola about the sound each key makes. Lola has a beam frozen on her face as Luke guides her hands across each key and presses lightly.

Pooja is guilty for breaking the moment, but she breaks it anyway by walking into the chamber. “Lola! It’s time to change for dinner.”

“Mooooom,” Lola whines, “not yet.”

“It’s alright,” Luke says lightly, “I’ve kept you too long, Lola. Go ahead.”

Lola hesitantly hops off the piano bench and passes by Pooja. She smiles and chimes, “Ryoo is waiting.”

Once Lola exits, Pooja lingers while Luke closes the piano cover over the keys.

“Nervous about tomorrow?” Pooja prompts Luke.

He hums in the affirmative, then rises smoothly from the bench. Luke wears black slacks and a ruffled white dress shirt, keeping it simple. His head turns to regard her fully.

“They’ve made it easy for you, at least,” Pooja says optimistically. “Just declare your loyalty to the Emperor and you’ll be safe.”

A shadow falls over Luke’s expression. It becomes clear to Pooja there are things he is not telling anyone. Secrets.

There is more to him than meets the eye. There is more to this trip than a simple declaration of loyalty now that Luke is following in Bail’s footsteps.

Luke reads something in Pooja’s thoughts. He admits, “I cannot fathom saying those words and meaning them. But I have to, or it’s all over.”

Pooja indicates what is between the lines well enough. Her involvement in the Rebellion is minimal, but not untraceable.

“I can tell you are a genuinely nice young man,” Pooja says as Luke steps closer, “so you must be more careful than most. Palpatine smells lies, and he seeks to corrupt all that is good. You must be strong; you can’t let him win.”

Pooja does not expect herself to be saying these things. But Luke is so kind and sweet that she is moved to do what she can to brighten his shadowy mood. 

And her words work. The steel behind Luke’s eyes strengthens like an extra layer of shine. His resolve is bolstered.

“I have hope,” Luke says suddenly, “and that is all one ever really needs.”

Pooja smiles. “I agree. Well said.”

-

They hide throughout Varykino for hours after they return from the palace. They are all gaunt and rattled.

Pooja demands to speak with Bail, and they sequester in her office. Ryoo joins them when she smells trouble, leaning against Pooja’s writing desk as a support system.

Pooja stands next to Ryoo, Bail standing across from the women. Ryoo studies the king, and Pooja frowns at his unusually-pale pallor.

“Well?” Pooja prompts.

Bail says reedily, “that was a close one. A very close one. I can barely breathe thinking about it.”

“What was it,” Ryoo asks fearlessly, “that happened to provoke a king to quake?”

Bail sways a little unsteadily on his feet. “There are things I must keep private, so what I will recite to you is not the whole story.”

“Understood,” Pooja clipped. “Tell us what you can.”

Bail swallows a lump in his throat thickly, then begins. “Seeing my son...so close to...so close to him...it was terrifying.” His eyes dart to a glass filled with Nubian wine, but he clamps his mouth shut to resist the urge. “It was just the Emperor in that room with us. Being with him so...alone...it’s never happened before. There were no distractions that we could use to our advantage. All we could see were...his...his yellow eyes...and his...and his withering pale skin. Luke...sweet Luke...did as I asked of him, knelt and spoke the words. But the Emperor made him say it again.”

“Shit,” Ryoo says bluntly.

“So Luke said it again, slower and with...with even more conviction than the first time. I almost believed him!” Bail chokes out a nervous laugh. “But the Emperor wasn’t satisfied. He wasn’t satisfied. He...he made Luke record something. It’ll...I’m sure it’ll be on the news holos tonight. It’s...it’s an official declaration of ever-lasting loyalty to the Empire. If he breaks...if he breaks loyalty, if he slips up even once,” Bail is positively haunted, “they will execute him on a live news holo.”

Pooja clutches Ryoo’s hand as if she were the annoying little sister again. 

The thought of that young darling boy getting executed...it is enough to make a shiver run down Pooja’s spine.

“It was...it was close,” Bail repeats. “Very very close. Too close for comfort.” He grimaces. “But Luke bought himself plenty of time.”

“May Shiraya keep him safe,” Ryoo says. “I will pray for him.”

“As will I,” Pooja echoes.

After a beat of silence, the clock ticks. It is time for dinner. No matter where the contents of the house are hiding, they will come out for nourishment.

Pooja clears her throat. “Let us check on the children.”

Bail nods his head in agreement. Pooja and Ryoo lead the king onto the terrace, crossing the small inner garden. The glass door is slid open by a maid, and they enter the kitchen.

They have to look no further. Lola is pattering around in the kitchen alongside the staff, which she has never done before. Dante lifts her onto a stool near the counter, and he laughs beside Luke. The prince and Dante instruct Lola how to make soup, and Luke helps her stir the pot. The kitchen staff watches on in amusement as well as fondness.

If Luke is unconcerned with what had occurred today, Pooja wouldn’t be either.

She would have hope.


	8. Age 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke and Ezra are curled up on a burgundy couch watching a holofilm. Bail nods to the guards to leave them alone, and the door hisses behind them.
> 
> Luke catches Bail’s gaze and shuts off the holofilm. Bail notices Luke fiddling with his birthday gift, a flame lily brooch crafted by Ezra’s own handiwork, fastened onto his royal blue tunic.
> 
> “Dad,” Luke says as a hollow greeting.
> 
> “I have taken what you suggested into consideration,” Bail says, “and we are making a detour.”
> 
> Luke beams hopefully. “Really?”
> 
> “Are you ready to become a part of the Rebellion?” Bail asks both boys.

Ezra wakes to the scent of Nubian flowers attached to a person. A person who should not be in his room right now.

He stretches as he yawns, opening his eyes alertly. He cannot afford to laze around often, especially not today.

The blinds cast plenty of sunlight into his room. A figure sits at his bedside, and it does not take a genius to know who it is.

Ezra places his palms on the mattress and pushes up his torso. Luke wears a half-smile and glittering eyes, still in his gray pajamas. His hair is unkempt, and his lashes hang low on his cheeks.

“Hi,” Luke murmurs, “happy birthday.”

Ezra falls back into the pillow, hair covering his burning face, and sighs. “You shouldn’t bother, Luke.”

“You deserve to be a bother sometimes.” The duvet shifts as Luke scoots closer, brushing the hair away from Ezra’s brows. “I have a little gift for you.”

Ezra wipes his eyes and exhales, “fine, I’ll humor you, Your Highness.”

He sits up, back against the pillows. Luke hands him a holo.

Ezra chews his lips and regards the circular device in his palm. He flicks it on, drinking in a holographic image of a nine-year-old Ezra and Luke beaming below Bail and Breha.

Even in terrible circumstances such as these, Ezra cannot help but smile wanly. “That’s...I forgot about this. Thank you.”

“It can go beside your other holo,” Luke says lightly. “Now you have four things in your bag!”

Ezra snorts. “I guess so, huh?” His gaze tears away from the holo and he flicks the image off. 

Luke is blindingly polarizing as he smiles, dimples on full display. “I wanted to let you know that we’re going to be traveling more often. It’s important to,” a flicker of darkness passes through Luke’s eyes, “have reminders where we came from, and who we are, and who we will always be.”

He looks to the bedspread and pushes away from Ezra. 

Luke’s fading smile is forced. “I’ll be in my room preparing for the parade.”

He leaves, and Ezra watches after him. A piece of him wants to rush out of bed and stop Luke. Run into the hallway and give Luke a hug. Tell him everything is going to be okay.

But he cannot. Because it’s not true. Ezra has no idea what will happen. Naboo’s inner darkness clouds his mind, and Luke’s just as well.

So Ezra swallows his fear and dresses in his uniform.

————

Luke is choking on the Dark as he approaches the Emperor. He dressed his best for the extravagant occasion, wearing his silver-ruby crown and a soldier’s maroon doublet adorned with brass buttons and an ornamental gold belt paired with white pants.

He sees the Emperor smile beneath his hood as he kneels.

“Your Excellency,” Luke says measuredly, “it is an honor to celebrate this glorious day in our Empire’s history with you.”

Stabbing eyes regard Luke, the Force filling him up with smoke. Luke’s inner Light retreats into the depths of his heart, unknown to the most powerful Force sensitive in the galaxy.

Palpatine hums. “You conduct yourself admirably, boy. Tell me: what is your favorite part of our achievement on the day the Republic fell?”

Luke wants to be sick, but he smirks devilishly; the mask of an Imperial prince is one he will have to wear often in the imminent future. “From what I have heard in our beautifully detailed histories of that remarkable day, my favorite part is when,” he pauses like he is thinking, “the Temple filled with heretics was burned to ash.”

He refuses to let his mind wander in the presence of the Emperor. He observes Palpatine with a calm coolness that shows he has Luke’s undivided attention.

“Ah, yes,” the Emperor’s voice slithers like a snake, “a glorious moment that was, indeed. You may rise, child.”

Luke stands smoothly, cupping his hands behind his back. He does not look away from the Emperor’s withered face.

“Remember, boy,” Palpatine warns, “I am paying special attention to your burgeoning career. I am most excited to see how you serve our Empire.” Bony fingers sweep off to the side, gesturing away. “Now smile for the cameras.”

Luke bows low. “Your Excellency.”

He waits until he exits the throne room to breathe.

————

As Luke and Ezra settle onto the Tantive IV, Bail shuts himself inside a small office. He rolls his chair closer to the desk as he sits, procuring an encrypted commlink in the bottom left drawer.

Bail exhales to even out his tone and flicks on the microphone. “Starblossom to Nightbird.”

“Starblossom,” Mon says, “I read you.”

“I’m coming, Nightbird,” Bail says, “even though I risk everything by doing so.”

“Passengers?” Mon asks.

“Moonstar and Sunwolf,” Bail replies.

“Both?!”

“Yes.”

“Does Fulcrum know to expect them?”

“No.”

Mon sighs. “You haven’t told them yet.”

“Correct.”

“You’re being awfully hasty,” Mon comments. “Think this through.”

“I have. They’re all coming with me. They need to be authorized by you to begin their journeys.”

“Are you sure about this?” Mon asks concernedly.

“Moonstar will lose light,” Bail says, “if we do not act.”

“Do you believe that Sunwolf will say the word?”

Bail instantly replies, “no, not yet.”

“Alright, then.” Mon says hesitantly, “I am expecting you, Starblossom.”

Bail flicks off the commlink and rises heavily from his chair. He exits the office and walks past several guards to a family room.

Luke and Ezra are curled up on a burgundy couch watching a holofilm. Bail nods to the guards to leave them alone, and the door hisses behind them.

Luke catches Bail’s gaze and shuts off the holofilm. Bail notices Luke fiddling with his birthday gift, a flame lily brooch crafted by Ezra’s own handiwork, fastened onto his royal blue tunic.

“Dad,” Luke says as a hollow greeting.

“I have taken what you suggested into consideration,” Bail says, “and we are making a detour.”

Luke beams hopefully. “Really?”

“Are you ready to become a part of the Rebellion?” Bail asks both boys.

“I am,” Ezra says, “absolutely.” He glances at Luke closely. “What about you, Your Highness?” Ezra nudges Luke’s shoulder to make him smile.

Luke snorts, then regards Bail with a seriousness that renders him speechless.

“I know the stakes are higher than they’ve ever been,” Luke says, “but if I don’t do something, I will lose myself.” He adds, “I know that I’ve concerned you lately, Dad.” He rubs his thumb pad against the brooch. “And you too, Ezra.”

“I thought I was hiding it well enough,” Ezra mutters.

Luke directs the full force of his sad smile at Ezra. “You can’t hide anything from me. It’s silly that you even tried.”

Bail does not have to be Force sensitive to understand the charge between Luke and Ezra. He chooses not to mull on it, though. There is so much that they must discuss.

Bail sits on a lounge chair to face Luke and Ezra at an angle. The boys break their eye contact, but do not pull back from their closeness.

“Dad,” Luke asks quietly, “I know that I could die for doing this, for working on missions with the Rebellion. Are you okay with...the very real possibility that I could be caught?”

Bail leans back into the lounge chair, the back of his head sinking into it. “I will never be okay with that,” Bail sighs, “but it is not about what I want. You are of age today, Luke. There is not much I can do now to change your mind. You are like your mother in that regard.”

Luke props an elbow on the couch, his hand on his cheek. “Tell Mom to wait.”

“On what?” Bail asks airily.

Luke reads his lie. “You know exactly what. I am not in the mood for suitors.”

Bail hums. “This does put a damper on things.”

“While today is a special day for me,” Luke says, “do you know what this means for you?”

Bail bobs his head. “I will retire quietly from public service and dedicate myself fully to the kingship, as well as the Rebellion.” He sideways glances at Ezra before saying heavily, “it is a time of great change.”

Ezra looks down as Luke inclines his head confidently towards Bail. If anything, Bail expected the reactions to go the other way around.

No matter. Balances could shift and still be steadily maintained.

“This is, of course,” Luke humbles himself, “assuming I win the Senate race.”

Ezra’s assuredness returns, his head picking up to regard Luke. “You will,” he emphasizes, “I can feel it.”

Luke does not reply.

Bail rises from the lounge chair. “We have another day’s journey ahead. Get some rest.”

————

Mon has the commlink strapped onto her hand. Even during meetings and strategic walks throughout the base, she waits for the chime.

It does not come until most of the Corellian base has gone on sleep shifts, skeleton crew remaining on duty.

Mon flicks on the commlink, rushing to the hangar bay as she registers Wedge’s puzzled voice.

“Uhhhhh,” Wedge asks confusedly, “why is the Tantive IV docking, ma’am?”

“I’ll be right there,” Mon says curtly, stuffing the comm in her pants pocket. The airy fabric of her white tunic flows with urgency as she walks briskly.

When she enters the hangar bay, two guards following her, Wedge’s frantic face advances.

“Is such a-an iconic vessel m-meant to be here, ma’am, w-with due respect?” Wedge stutters, his orange pilot jumpsuit rustling loudly.

Mon waits as the ramp to the Tantive IV is lowered. “Captain Antilles,” she says to Wedge, “inform Fulcrum and Captain Verlaine of the news, and tell them to wait.”

Wedge is about to stutter a “yes, ma’am,” but settled for running out of the hangar bay to follow her orders.

A puff of smoke indicates the ramp is secured. Both Mon’s men and Bail’s royal guards work together to ensure there are no trackers or bugs that Bail missed whilst in orbit.

A haggard and worn Bail descends. Mon had seen him three standard months ago, but he aged years with every passing day. His hair is more gray than black, and his caramel skin is pale due to his hasty trip. 

Bail does not look to be the king of anything, except perhaps his own fear.

His eyes are hollow and beady as he says, “I apologize for inconveniencing you in such a way, Mon, but I had to do something. If our light is gone, we have very little.”

Mon thinks of Luke, the blaster fire loaded into each speech he delivers before an audience, whether televised or whispered after the fact. Although a rare few have met Luke Organa, and he has not declared himself an official member of the Rebellion, he represents the very grounding that the Rebellion was founded upon.

If only Luke’s mother could see him now…

Mon knows Bail is troubled by Palpatine. How could he not be? The Emperor had Luke kneeling before him and smooth-talking his way through carefully-veiled traps.

Luke avoided detection so far, which surprises Mon more than anyone else. She did not quite expect Luke to live up to the way he was spoken about by young men such as Wedge, who grew up alongside the prince.

If he can continue to do what he’s doing so well right now, Luke will be an important ally, the most important ally of all.

“They are inside?” Mon asks Bail. “Have you explained?”

“I’m afraid,” Bail’s mouth twinges downwards, “I have been distracted.”

Mon rolls her eyes at the man. “This is why kings need queens.”

She ascends the ramp, and Bail does not protest; he merely falls into line behind her.

Mon sweeps past royal guards until she reaches a cozy family room. Both boys are sitting on the couch, engrossed in speaking in low voices. Nerves bounce off of both of them, words flying by too fast for Mon to register and absorb them.

Ezra Bridger’s head snaps towards her, and he straightens his posture. Luke Organa notices the change and turns his head to the unfamiliar woman.

Bail lingers in the doorway and says, “boys, this is Mon Mothma, the leader of the Rebellion.”

Mon regards them critically. Ezra has grown so much over the past years that she hardly recognizes the scared little boy who fled Lothal and smuggled himself onto a Rebel shuttle. 

But that same unwavering spirit lingered in cerulean eyes, and Mon is grateful that Ezra’s morals for good remain intact.

Luke is smaller in stature than he looks on holos, which Mon figures is to his benefit. Also, his face is so childlike that no one would think this prince could spit fire at his opponents so well.

There is more to both than meets the eye. Mon knows about their abilities, and how skilled they are with them at only fourteen years old. Fulcrum, formerly known as Ahsoka Tano, filled her in on plenty of the lessons she taught them.

If they can fool the Emperor, they just might be the most powerful beings in the galaxy.

But neither boy can know that. Hubris is tricky to tame.

“I remember you vaguely,” Ezra says. “You were the first person I talked to after...after I was picked up.”

Mon nods. “It’s good to see you again, Ezra Bridger. Are you ready to say the word?”

Ezra shakes his head. “I am not ready yet, ma’am.”

“Understood. I had to check.” 

Luke glances with furrowed brows at Ezra. He mouths, ‘later.’

Mon eyes them suspiciously. The boys rarely keep secrets from each other. How interesting. She would have to use that to her advantage. Have them work as a team when both were available.

Luke then rises from the couch and lowers his head at Mon. “A pleasure to finally meet you, ma’am,” he says in a shockingly gentle voice.

Where is the boy that hurls knives with a scathing tongue? He is replaced by a prince as sweet as a sonnet.

The contradiction of Luke Organa will never cease to be compelling.

“Your efforts to forward our cause have been admirable,” Mon says, “and very well-veiled. I could not have done a better job myself, Your Highness.”

Luke frowns at the formality. “I think...I think I would prefer to be called Luke here. If that’s alright with you, ma’am.”

Mon smiles. “Alright, Luke. We have to discuss your role in the Rebellion. You may sit.”

Luke sinks back into the couch beside Ezra. He sends Luke encouragement with a calculated shoulder brush.

Mon takes the lounge chair, and Bail leaves her to attend to his men.

Neither boy speaks, waiting patiently.

Mon clears her throat. “I have been made aware of the plan by your father. Luke, it is your job to run for his Galactic Senate seat without arousing suspicion. I will inform you of any codes you must work into your policy speeches so the Rebel bases displaced across the galaxy can understand you. The Rebellion does not have one single communication system, so we rely on politicians like your father and yourself to send messages across bases.”

Luke nods in understanding. “I once worked in a nursery rhyme about a tyrant getting beheaded. I can do it.”

Mon laughs, and it catches Luke off guard. “I saw that one. It was impressive.”

Luke blushes, apparently unused to being complimented. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“That is the public work you will be doing,” Mon says, “but behind the scenes, I expect you to be either on a base or at home. If you can get to a Rebel base safely and with little risk to your life, you will be working alongside myself and most other commanding officers. We need leaders to coordinate events and attacks, and a good speaker is invaluable. The people will listen to you because your father is Bail Organa and your mother is Breha Organa. Does that make sense?”

“It does, ma’am,” Luke replies curtly.

Mon turns to Ezra. “I’m afraid there’s no helping your name change, as your false identity is imperative. Depending upon who is in the room, you will either be called Dante or Ezra.”

“Fine,” Ezra says without complaint.

“Since you are not using the word yet,” Mon says, “when you are not by Luke’s side in the Senate or in the palace, you will be running missions. Because you are Luke’s bodyguard, it will constrict your movements considerably. At least for now.”

“So long as Luke is safe while I am away,” Ezra emphasizes, “I will do as you ask, ma’am.”

“Good,” Mon continues, “I understand your duty and loyalty, first and foremost, is to the prince’s crown and House Organa.” 

Ezra nods to corroborate Mon’s statement. 

“Your missions will be brief, mostly smuggling and negotiating in nearby systems,” Mon explains. “I am sure Luke will consent to being the voice in your ear the entire time, safe and sound at base.”

Luke smiles in agreement.

“When you do decide to say the word,” Mon says, “you have a crew ready to work alongside you for these missions.”

“Are you sure, ma’am?” Ezra asks hesitantly.

“They know about you, yes,” Mon replies. “It will be alright. But do not rush your decision.”

“Understood, ma’am,” Ezra says after a throat clear. She does not miss his furrowed brows, as if he can’t quite believe other people besides Organas would want him.

Poor boy. 

She has an easy fix for that.

“You cannot be together consistently,” Mon continues, “but you will always arrive and leave on the same base. Since I am a former Senator, I will coordinate your longer stays with the Senate schedule that the Empire still uses. And of course, I will allow you both time on Alderaan during your holiday season. Your parents will be eager to see you both whenever you arrive,” she winks, “and I am sure that Luke will be highly sought out and courted.”

Luke blushes and looks away. “It’s not an issue?”

Mon smiles lightly. “You are a prince. The duties that come with that will not be altered.”

“I told Dad to wait anyways,” Luke rushes out, “so I can adjust to my station here.”

“That is wise,” Mon says curtly. 

Ezra stares at Luke with a frown during the topic of conversation. When he sees Mon regard him warily, he schools his expression to the blank slate required of a guard.

“Now,” Mon rises from the lounge chair, smoothing out her tunic and pants, “I believe that is the basics. I will take you inside the base. I am sure there are some people who would love to see you both.”

Out of Bail and Luke, it is Luke who stands and walks with the confidence of a king. Despite his shortness, he commands the attention of every guard bowing their heads as they pass. Ezra follows a step behind Luke, worrying his lip at what Mon meant by her statement.

Did Ezra already forget? Or did he remember and was unsure how they would react to seeing him again?

Mon leads them out of the Tantive IV, a group of friendly faces already assembled to wait for them.

Luke gasps, and rushes into a group hug. The arms of Wedge, Winter, and Evaan happily embrace the prince.

Ezra, though, is cautious as he approaches the married couple who awaits him. “You, uh, you’re here.” He laughs nervously. “H-Hi. Long time no see.”

Kes Dameron and Shara Bey gather Ezra into a hug.

“We’ve been waiting for you to come back to a base,” Shara says gently, rubbing Ezra’s back.

“We never forgot you, kid,” Kes says, eyes glistening as he ruffles Ezra’s hair.

Ezra sniffles into Shara’s shoulder. “S-sorry I...I don’t know why I’m,” he pulls his moistened eyes away from Shara’s uniform, “so emotional.”

“It’s alright not to know,” Kes says with a laugh.

“I-I feel like I should’ve...called o-or something,” Ezra sniffles and blinks away tears. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Shara coos, “don’t be sorry. You needed to be safe.”

“Now that you’re here,” Kes says evenly, smoothing back Ezra’s thick hair, “we’re here if you ever need anything. Okay?”

Ezra says thickly, “okay. Thank you.”

Luke breaks away from Wedge, Evaan, and Winter. He observes Ezra curiously, but decides patience to be the best option.

Before Luke can check on Ezra, Ahsoka appears late to the party. Luke sees her and rushes into her arms laughing.

“‘Soka! I didn’t think you’d be here too!” Luke exclaims.

“I had to be here for my boys,” Ahsoka murmurs into Luke’s hair.

Ezra steps away from Kes and Shara. He gasps at Ahsoka and hugs her. “Auntieeee!”

Ahsoka laughs, using one arm to hug each boy. “I wasn’t expecting such a warm welcome. We just saw each other two weeks ago!”

“It’s been a long two weeks,” Luke admits.

“Yeah,” Ezra bobs his head a little, “it’s been stressful.”

“You’re alright now,” Ahsoka says, a shadow crossing over her eyes. She rubs their backs and retracts from the hug a moment later.

Luke and Ezra realize that Mon has waited for them, and follow her after saying a quick goodbye.

-

After a tour of the base, Mon sends Luke and Ezra to a room to talk before Bail rejoins them. She fully intends to walk away, but she overhears something that roots her behind the door.

“I thought we didn’t keep secrets,” Luke says, sounding hurt and childish.

Mon almost forgets he is fourteen. She wants to coddle him like a little boy, as frigid as she may seem to her subordinates.

“I wanted to tell you so bad,” Ezra admits softly. “I’m so sorry, Luke. I had to. I was sworn to secrecy.”

Luke sighs, the couch shifting as he stands and paces. “I suppose it makes sense. I just...I thought I knew everything. Turns out that’s not even close to the truth.”

“I’ve told you all that I can bear,” Ezra says weakly, “because it’s uncomfortable to think about, let alone speak about.”

“Even in front of your best friend?”

“Especially in front of you,” Ezra emphasizes. “I am very sorry, Luke. It is impossible to know everything about someone, and confide in someone, when that someone is a person you seek to impress.”

Those final words are so quiet that Mon almost doesn’t catch them through the durasteel.

But Luke heard it well enough. “We’ve been inseparable for seven years. Half of our lives! Why do you feel the need to impress me?”

There are several seconds of silence. To Mon, it speaks louder than words ever could.

She hears Luke sink back into the couch, most likely beside Ezra.

Luke says softly, “I’ll let it go. Just tell me what Mon was talking about. Please? I need to know you’re okay.”

Ezra hesitates, but still confesses. “When we were younger, Bail had me meet a Jedi that works for the Rebellion. His name is Kanan Jarrus, and he does smuggling missions with a crew. Kanan gave me a code word to speak to Mon when I was old enough and wanted his guidance.”

“And this guidance,” Luke asks incredulously, “is something you don’t want?”

“I have you,” Ezra says measuredly. “I have ‘Soka. I have Bail. I have Breha. I have Winnie and Ray and Riza and an entire palace of people who care about me. I even have Kes and Shara, after all these years. I have all I need, Luke.”

“Ahsoka doesn’t tell us everything about the ways of the Force,” Luke says lowly. “This Kanan Jarrus might know more. I know how curious you are to learn everything you can about the Jedi and the times of old. ‘Soka won’t go into detail because it brings her pain. You can say the word if you really want to learn. Think about it.”

“I am thinking about it,” Ezra says exasperatedly, “and I can’t, Luke. Not yet. Okay?”

“If you’re afraid of what you might find,” Luke fires back, “you really shouldn’t be. That’s no way to live.”

“I know, I know.” Ezra makes a frustrated noise. “Just leave it for now, okay?” He adds fondly, “you’re really annoying when you want to be, you nag.”

“There’s no one here to nag,” Luke says lightly, “so the job falls to me. Hello. I’m Luke Organa, nag extraordinaire.”

Ezra snorts out a laugh. “He’s such a nag!”

The door slides open, and Mon is paralyzed as the boys observe her coyly.

“Right, Mon?” Ezra asks her, arching a brow with glinting eyes.

Luke busts out laughing, turning his head and snorting into Ezra’s neck. “Don’t antagonize our new boss, Ezra!”

Ezra pulls the prince into a hug while Luke stifles laughs. Mon balks openly at them, and how she was just played by two fourteen year old boys.

“Sorry,” Ezra holds up his free hand, “I couldn’t resist.”

Luke finally picks up his head from Ezra’s shoulder. His cheeks are pinched a red-pink color from leftover mirth. “Next time,” Luke says to Mon, “remember we can sense you. We’ll forgive you this once. Okay?”

Mon’s mouth falls open, then makes a strangled sound. She closes her mouth and clears her throat. Luke and Ezra wait patiently and amusedly.

Mon finally manages, “okay.”

-

Mon calmly reads the report Bail sent after the Tantive IV left the Rebel base on Corellia. She considers typing a reply, but merely saves and transfers the document to the official records file.

Her fragile tranquility is disturbed when a frazzled Kanan Jarrus bursts into the office. Since her assistant is on break, there is no one to bar his frantic entry.

“He was here!” Kanan exclaims, marching to her desk. “I know he was! Where did he go? Why didn’t you tell me?!”

He stands over her, eyes wild and hair falling out of his bun. He deflates after huffing out a very long breath. He collapses into the chair across from Mon’s desk, inhaling and exhaling for a moment.

Kanan brushes unbound strands of hair behind his ears. “Sorry,” he breathes, “I’m just...I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry. Kriff!”

“He didn’t say the word,” Mon says coolly.

Kanan’s gaze widens in surprise. “Why not?”

“He is not ready.”

“Not ready!” Kanan tips his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Not ready!”

“The boy seems to exercise more patience and practice more wisdom than you,” Mon says.

Kanan guffaws, leveling his gaze back to Mon. “You know what? That was a fair jab. You’re absolutely right. Absolutely right.” He nods to himself. “He’ll come to me eventually. I know he will.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Mon can’t help but reply.

Kanan furrows his brows. “What?” He asks flatly.

“The boy is content,” Mon says. “The boy is at peace on Alderaan by the prince’s side. He will not give that up so easily. Be prepared to wait for longer, or don’t be surprised if he doesn’t come to you at all.”

Mon’s harsh words float between them. Kanan is spellbound and utterly incredulous. The air disappears from the room, and their gazes do not break for a full minute.

Kanan inhales sharply through his nose. The return of oxygen bolsters Kanan to rise from his chair, hands on the sides pushing him up messily.

“Fine,” Kanan says, “alright, okay. I’ll keep that in mind. Sorry to bother you.”

Kanan leaves the office before Mon can offer a positive anecdote.


	9. Age 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke clasps his hands behind his back, as is customary when addressing Mon. He clears his throat and says a curt, “ma’am.”
> 
> “Commander Organa,” Mon says, “you may sit on the couch. We need to have a discussion on personal matters.”
> 
> Luke’s mouth downturns as he walks towards the mustard couch on the side of Mon’s office. Bail and Ahsoka, who were standing by the wings of Mon’s desk, sit on the couch cushions on either side of Luke; the same stance they often use to bring him comfort.
> 
> Uh oh. He definitely did something wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the frenzy of spring break posts begin!

Luke, upon being summoned to Mon’s office, feels like a chided child. He knows he’s done something wrong, even if he is unsure of what it is, exactly. However, it’s the only reason Mon is asking for Luke to come alone; he is usually in the office for strategy meetings with other Commanders.

Due to the planet’s chilly climate outside, Luke wears sweater leggings and a beige vest over a pearl dove turtleneck. Since his hair is growing longer by the week, Luke now secures stray strands with pins fastened above his ears.

Luke’s standard-issue boots are loud enough for Mon to hear outside the durasteel door. He wonders how Mon, who is non-Force sensitive because he’s checked many times, always picks out the weight of footsteps and separates them all.

The durasteel door slides open with nary a prompt. Luke enters and gasps at the three people inside: Bail, Ahsoka, and Mon.

The door closing is a defining hiss, one that brings Luke back to his manners.

“Dad,” Luke smiles, “‘Soka.” He stares pointedly at the aging Togruta. “Did you want to hide your Force presence from me?”

Ahsoka’s mouth twitches upwards, albeit with immense hesitation. Her voice comes out softer than he is used to as of late. “That’s what surprises are for, Luke.”

Luke very badly wants to throw himself into his father’s and beloved teacher’s arms, but Mon’s professionalism keeps him grounded. He is fifteen years old, a growing man. He cannot act so foolish and childlike anymore.

Bail obviously sees the lack of a hug coming his way and frowns slightly. His mouth quickly smooths into a neutral line.

Luke clasps his hands behind his back, as is customary when addressing Mon. He clears his throat and says a curt, “ma’am.”

“Commander Organa,” Mon says, “you may sit on the couch. We need to have a discussion on personal matters.”

Luke’s mouth downturns as he walks towards the mustard couch on the side of Mon’s office. Bail and Ahsoka, who were standing by the wings of Mon’s desk, sit on the couch cushions on either side of Luke; the same stance they often use to bring him comfort.

Uh oh. He definitely did something wrong.

Is it because he gave orders well, but received them begrudgingly? Is it because he hesitates before making major decisions? Is it because he isn’t the model leader Mon was hoping for when she asked for him?

Mon crosses the space between her desk and the couch. She brings a chair with her and sits on the other side of a rug. It is the color of bile with circular green rings giving it a semblance of style.

Mon leans forward, hands in lap, indicating that she is nervous. What can she possibly have to be nervous about?

“Luke,” she says, “it is important that what we’re about to tell you isn’t taken the wrong way. Just know that we are protecting you.”

“Uh...okay?” Luke says confusedly.

“You have never asked about your birth parents,” Bail says, causing Luke to stare openly at his father, “but I think it’s time you know.”

Luke furrows his brows. He says exactly what he is thinking in plain terms. “I do not need to know who they were. I have made my peace with that.”

Ahsoka sighs on his opposite side, and Luke directs his attention to her.

“We understand, Luke,” Ahsoka’s eyes glisten, “but my last mission made me realize that...ignorance is a silent killer. Whether you want to know it or not,” she says, placing a hand on his shoulder, “you have to know.”

“You promised you would never speak to me in riddles,” Luke teases lightly.

The remark only upsets Ahsoka more. “Oh, I don’t want to tell you.” Her eyes moisten, tearing over to Bail. “I want him to live in bliss forever. I don’t want him to know. I don’t know what he’ll think of us.”

Luke frowns at Bail. He sends Ahsoka a hardened look, the kind Luke only sees when his father delivers holo speeches.

“Who shall go first?” Bail asks, Luke glancing between them in puzzlement.

Mon says, “my part is the shortest.”

Luke’s head snaps to the woman, the leader of the Rebellion, who he nearly forgot was there. 

Mon begins without prompting from Luke or anyone else. “Luke, we all knew your birth parents, in some form or another. You may not want to hear this, but you must. Do you understand?”

Luke wants to protest. He wants to press his palms over his ears. He wants to walk out of this office and never look back.

And yet…

Luke nods in affirmation. If this is important, which it must be, then he should listen.

“Good. Now,” Mon gets comfortable in her chair, “you are the son of Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala. Do you know their names?”

He does. He...he does.

Luke sinks into the couch, eyes blown wide.

Anakin Skywalker was one of the most powerful Jedi Knights that fought in the Clone Wars. No one knows what happened to him after the Republic fell.

And Padmé Amidala. By all the stars in all the planetary skies…

Luke has played and replayed Padmé’s speeches so many times he can recite them. He had no idea why he was so drawn to this woman, but he researched what little information was left on her after Imperial scrubs and didn’t have an answer.

This was his answer. Somehow, a piece of his heart knew this woman was his mother.

The word ‘Naberrie’ swims in his mind, and it takes Luke a few beats to remember why.

That’s Padmé’s last name. Not Amidala. Naberrie.

And that made Pooja...his cousin. Ryoo, too.

Luke blinks incredulously at Bail. “You had me meet my family on Naboo without telling me.”

Bail bobs his head, frowning at being unable to discern Luke’s emotions outwardly.

Luke hums. “I suppose I’ll allow it. You didn’t go against my wishes.”

Luke wants nothing more than to fly to Naboo on his personal shuttle. He normally uses it for going to and from the Senate, but he can take an untraceable trip to Naboo if he wished.

He is unsure, though, how the Naberries will react to having another relative. Besides, he hasn’t met everyone else that supposedly lives in Theed.

“There is something else,” Mon says, garnering Luke’s attention. “I’m going to remind you again: we only want to protect you.”

Luke blinks, and says nothing. Now what?

Mon reveals, “you have a twin sister.”

He has…a twin sister?!

“She is being watched over by former Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Mon says, “and no, I will not tell you where she is.”

Luke’s jaw drops in pure shock, snapping closed a moment later. “W-why not? Why wouldn’t you tell me something like that? Why...why…” Luke turns to Bail. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bail sighs, aging several years in seconds. “For this very reason.”

Luke’s face falls, and he stares at the ugly rug below his boots. He stares and stares and stares.

He has a sister. A blood sister. Somewhere out in the galaxy.

And Mon won’t tell him where to find her!

Luke picks his head up at Ahsoka. “Do you know where she is? Or does only Mon know?”

Ahsoka’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, Luke. I don’t.”

Luke wants to ask Mon again, but he settles for looking at her unreadable expression. She will not break, or so much as bend, to tell him what he desired.

“This is for both of you,” Bail says quietly. “The safety of you and your sister is paramount to everyone in this room, and even to those who are not.”

A tear rolls down Luke’s cheek silently. When did he start crying? When did his eyes even water? He does not remember.

Luke swipes a lone tear away with his thumb. He was told by Breha once that he is a pretty crier. Such a good crier, in fact, that he can hide his pain through the fakest smile.

He blinks once to gain his bearings, moisture dissipating back into his eyelids. He will not make the mistake of doing that again. Crying will get him nowhere.

“Well,” Luke inhales sharply, “at least I know now. I’m not so alone after all.”

Ahsoka deflates beside him. The hand on his shoulder moves to sweep back strands of his sandy hair that escaped the pin’s confines. “You’ve never been alone,” she murmurs.

“I know,” Luke says, “I meant...you know what I meant.”

Ahsoka nods, brushing hair behind Luke’s ear. He cannot bring himself to pull away from the touch; it is a comfort he can rarely afford.

Her hand drops and she pouts. “Stop frowning. It makes me sad.”

Luke directs his gaze back to Mon. “Now’s your part, right?”

Mon nods, shifting in her chair. “I knew your mother very well. While Padmé was a bit younger than me, female Senators stuck together. During the Clone Wars, Padmé was so disturbed by what was happening that she invited Bail and I to listen to an...idea she had.” Mon chooses her words carefully. “Somehow, Padmé knew that the Republic would fall before anyone else did. It was her that presented the idea of a Rebellion.”

Luke gapes in shock and wonderment. “Seriously? Like...seriously? Really?”

Mon almost smiles. “I didn’t realize why she was so afraid until the day the Republic fell. Padmé was hiding her pregnancy, as well as her marriage to your father. She went into early labor from the shock and stress. Bail and I were present at your birth, as was Obi-Wan Kenobi, your sister’s ward.”

“And since my father was a Jedi,” Luke realizes, short of breath, “you knew we wouldn’t be safe together because of our heightened Force sensitivity. So you separated us.”

Mon nods in affirmation. “Bail brought you to Alderaan, and your sister went with Kenobi. And I began the Rebellion based on the drafts Padmé was able to write before…before she passed away in childbirth.”

“Oh,” Luke hangs his head, worrying his lip, “okay.” He glances up and says lightly, “and that’s the short part?”

He can barely bear their small smiles.

“My turn, then,” Bail says, garnering Luke’s undivided attention. “I was Padmé’s closest friend in the Senate. Since Alderaan and Naboo are similar planets, we got along splendidly. She even spent some time on Alderaan, and Breha absolutely adored her.” He glances away, eyes glazing over slightly. “I thought I knew everything there was to know about Padmé, but it turns out I hardly understood a thing. Padmé was a very complicated woman. Of all the thousands of conversations we’ve had, I never thought I would have this particular one, which was the day before the Republic fell.”

Luke senses Mon and Ahsoka leaning forward as well. They probably don’t know this part either.

Bail says, “Padmé confessed to me that she’s been hiding a great deal from everyone. She told me she was pregnant with Anakin’s child, and she’s been married to him for almost five years. Five years. I had no idea.” He snorts. “It’s funny because, as soon as she said that, I...it made sense to me. I was shocked that I didn’t realize it earlier. I spoke to Anakin many times over the years I knew him, and I never would have thought to question it. Those two were always...as far as I know...those two were always around each other, when breaks in the war allowed it. Anakin was always around the Senate building when he should have been in the Temple. He became Padmé’s security detail when he got a break. All of the pieces fell right into place.”

There is a silence, which no one pierces.

“I don’t know the history of your parents,” Bail says to Luke, “but I wish I could have helped my friend. When Padmé confided in me, it was too little too late. I know you will all deny it,” he looks between Ahsoka and Bail, “but I feel like I failed.”

Mon and Ahsoka shake their heads.

“So,” Bail throws up his hands, and they plop on his lap, “I took you in, Luke. I didn’t know what else to do. I needed to help my friend after she passed and this was how I was best equipped to do that. Then I started the Rebellion with Mon.”

Luke says nothing for a moment. He lets everything absorb into his mind.

And with that came a realization. He turns to Ahsoka.

“Does this mean you know the most?” Luke asks.

Ahsoka nods, eyes watering. “I’m sorry for not telling you everything I’m about to the moment I discovered whose son you were. I’m ashamed to say I didn’t sense it right away. But once I did,” she sniffles, “I see your father when I look at you. And I can tell you firsthand: that’s not always a good thing. Anakin was perhaps the most flawed man I’ve ever met. Your wonderful mother balances things out in your favor considerably.”

Bail and Mon choke out laughs. Luke cannot even begin to comprehend what they mean yet.

“As you know,” Ahsoka says, “Padawans have a Jedi Master to teach them. During the Clone Wars, a temporary ruling was passed to allow Jedi Knights to have apprentices as well.”

“I see where this is going,” Luke says lightly.

“I was fourteen and terrified when I met Anakin,” Ahsoka says. “And he himself was a war general at twenty. Keep that in mind. He had to grow up pretty fast. So did his Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, who I heard had to train Anakin when he was nineteen.”

Luke nods along to keep the story going. Ahsoka seems to be the only one who knows anything about his birth father.

“Anakin did not want an apprentice,” Ahsoka laughs, “he really didn’t want one. At first I thought it was just because he was famous and didn’t want the trouble. But, uh...there’s a lot to Anakin’s story. I didn’t find this out until later,” Ahsoka worries her lip, “but Anakin was a slave. He was freed by Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Master, Qui-Gon Jinn. So Anakin wasn’t one for taking orders.” She adds teasingly with a shoulder nudge, “you aren’t either, by the way.”

Luke cannot muster a smile. In his efforts to learn first aid, he has seen battlefields over the past months. He has come across slaves and freed them.

What would his father think about that?

“Over my years as Anakin’s apprentice, I became acquainted with your father’s unending flaws. His overconfidence, his impulsiveness, his brashness. But also with that comes a self-sacrificial nature, compassion, and a need to help and protect people.” Ahsoka sighs. “I spent years as his apprentice, and I can tell you this: not even I knew about his relationship with your mother. I knew Padmé well,” she chuckles, “but apparently not as well as I had hoped.”

Luke wants to call them all fools for not looking deeper, but something gets caught in his throat and sticks there.

“When they were together, though,” Ahsoka says, “I could almost glimpse something. Perhaps what it would have been like if they were allowed to be happy.”

Luke is reminded of a romance holofilm he watched with Breha. The phrase comes unglued from his throat. “Star-crossed lovers.”

“Hm?” Bail wonders.

“Something Mom was watching,” Luke explains. “It was about galaxy laws keeping two people from loving each other.”

There is a moment of silence.

“That’s about right,” Bail says uneasily.

“I can fill in some blanks about how Anakin and Padmé know each other,” Ahsoka chimes, “but again, I don’t know everything, because it was Obi-Wan who told me.”

Mon and Bail shift forward eagerly. Luke finds himself in a similar position.

Ahsoka explains, “they met while Anakin was a slave in a mechanic’s shop. At the time, Padmé was Queen of Naboo and her royal starship was in need of repair. Anakin was freed by the Jedi after winning a pod race. They went their separate ways after a civil war with the Trade Federation. They reunited ten years later when multiple assassination attempts were made on Padmé. Anakin kept her safe, and...well,” she winks, “you can figure out the rest.”

Luke blushes despite himself. It’s embarrassing to hear about his parents like...that.

“Whirlwind romance,” Ahsoka gestures her hand, “secret marriage, and the Clone Wars cutting everything short. The unexpected pregnancy was what got us all here,” she smiles, “not that it’s a bad thing.” Ahsoka tucks hair behind Luke’s ear. “We’ve got you, starshine.”

“What about you and Anakin?” Luke asks softly. “What happened? Why weren’t you there?”

Ahsoka sighs. “I was framed for a crime. The Jedi Order kicked me out. Anakin fought hard for me, but the damage was done. I didn’t want to go back. That,” she frowns, “that was part of Anakin’s undoing, I think. Why he was so different later in his life.”

Luke furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean...war takes its toll fast,” Ahsoka says sadly. “You’ve seen it. You’ve heard it. It just might happen to you, if you don’t keep your wits about you.” She murmurs with a grin, “but you prove to be a strong and capable person. You have a better chance than most to make it out of everything intact.”

Luke does not like the dark turn this has taken. It is unavoidable, though; he knows he will eventually have to see his loved ones die.

He hopes he doesn’t have to worry about it for a long while.

The door hisses open. It is Evaan.

“I know you told everyone not to interrupt,” Evaan rushes out to Mon, “but the Ghost is in trouble, ma’am.”

Luke rises to his feet, everything and everyone else forgotten. “Show me.”

————

Ezra is sure that the Brother is dead. The columns to an entire chamber fell; there was no way he was alive.

But from the ashes, darkness still rises.

His error is turning his back to the ashes. It is the biggest mistake he’s ever made in his entire life.

The Brother burns Kanan’s eyes with a lightsaber the moment they are off guard. They are so sure it is over that their lightsabers collapse into their hilts.

All Kanan sees now is white murky blackness. Nothing, nothing, nothing. And it is all Ezra’s fault for turning his back.

Ezra has just gotten comfortable being on missions with the Ghost. The crew liked him well enough, going so far as to treat him like one of their own, even though he wasn’t.

There is no particular reason why he says the code word ‘Phoenix.’ It is instead a set of circumstances due to restlessness and dissatisfaction. 

It was six months earlier, when Ahsoka was teaching Ezra and Luke at the palace on Alderaan. Ezra is lazing through lightsaber forms, because he knows them all and he’s perfected them all. Ahsoka stops their lesson and calls Ezra out on it. He insists he’s fine, but Ahsoka knows better.

‘Say the word,’ Ahsoka commands.

And suddenly, it does not seem like a terrifying prospect anymore. What terrible thing could truly happen if Ezra said the word and accepted guidance from Kanan?

‘You really should, Ezra,’ Luke chimes, wearing the sunshine smile that made something inside Ezra break and bow, ‘you deserve to have something of your own. Something you want to do just because you have the choice.’

Ezra is prepared to protest. But Luke already knew what he was going to say.

‘I’ll be fine, Ezra,’ Luke murmurs with conviction. ‘I’ll be safe.’

Ezra’s gaze darted between the two of them, at the acceptance and genuineness in their faces, and made a quip about being too sappy for his liking.

Nonetheless, the next time he was on base, he said the code word to Mon. Within an hour, Ezra met the Ghost crew and felt oddly fulfilled for taking a risk.

Kanan Jarrus, in Ezra’s opinion, is the polar opposite of Ahsoka. When Ahsoka instructed him to be disciplined, Kanan told him to speak his mind. When Ahsoka chided him for being too aggressive in his lightsaber forms, Kanan said it was an essential mode of survival, but negative emotions should still be used sparingly. When Ahsoka clucked her tongue for being too mouthy, Kanan encouraged his jokes.

It isn’t that Ahsoka is a rude or strict teacher. She is simply a very different teacher giving instructions under restrictive circumstances. It is probably why Ahsoka and Kanan are wary around each other.

Kanan, he recalls, was very impressed by Ezra’s raw skill with a weapon, whether it be a staff, blaster, or lightsaber. Ezra is not used to being complimented on his fighting techniques, since Alderaan preferred pacifism.

Hera Syndulla, one of Ahsoka’s friends, is the coolest captain of a ship Ezra’s ever met, including Raymus. Hera is a smorgasbord of every emotion brewing in a single being all at once. Her compassion can turn on a dime towards no-nonsense if the situation called for it. She could be quite maternal, but also stubborn when crossed.

Kanan’s crippling affection for her is also quite sickeningly sweet.

Zeb Orellios is the one he has the rockiest relationship with. They could butt heads, but Hera always ensured they made up. When they weren’t fighting, they were messing around like brothers. Throwing things at each other, kicking each other under the table, smacking each other’s arms. These fake fights were usually preceded by Sabine snorting at them or rolling her eyes.

Sabine Wren, the other late addition to the crew, is an enigma. Ezra flirts with her to get her to lighten up a little, but it only makes her more annoyed. 

In reality, Ezra only flirts with her to get his mind off Luke. The prince has a queue of worthy suitors lined up for him on Alderaan. And Luke assured Ezra it was alright to look for someone, too.

Or at least that’s what Luke thought. The someone Ezra has been seeking is right there in front of him; a part of him has known that for a very long time. But there is nothing he can do about it. Luke is a prince, and Ezra is a bodyguard. That’s that.

So Ezra flirts because he doesn’t know what else to do. It’s mostly for show, and deep down, Sabine and Ezra understand that.

When Ezra isn’t staging a flirtation, though, he gets to watch Sabine paint. It calmed both of them. Ezra got to forget his responsibilities, and Sabine got to do something that made her happy.

Despite the mixed emotions, Ezra can honestly say Sabine is a good friend. When Hera couldn’t be there to talk, she was.

But all of this, all the friendship building, all the missions they had done together, meant nothing now.

As the Brother compresses into shadow, the cave crumbling, Ezra looks down at Kanan, who is balled up on the floor, hissing in pain.

Kanan is blind, and it is his fault.

Blood drips onto Kanan’s cloak. Ezra blinks and touches his cheek.

He is bleeding. A lot.

After a swoop of lightheadedness, Ezra made haste. “Okay,” he hisses, pressing a hand on Kanan’s shoulder, “I’ll help you up. We can’t stay here. He’s still alive.”

Kanan sniffles, and lifts his head towards an inkling of light.

Ezra inhales sharply at the whiteness murking Kanan’s once-blue eyes. He wants to be sick, but his disgust fades into the air, replaced with sympathy. 

Ezra drags his hand down from Kanan’s shoulder and across his arm. Their hands clasp, and he brings Kanan to his feet lightly.

“Is it dark in here?” Kanan asks, turning his head around.

Ezra sniffles, a tear slipping unbidden down his bloody cheek. “N-Not entirely.”

Kanan frowns, and he understands.

Ezra steps away and ducks his head in shame, but Kanan holds his hand tight to stop him; Ezra winces at his strength.

“It’s both of our faults,” Kanan says decisively. “I will hear no more about doling blame.”

“Okay,” Ezra mumbles.

The sound of a lightsaber thrumming is followed by a blood-red beam.

Ezra gasps, heart jumping in his throat. Kanan senses his fear and squeezes his hand.

This glow, though, is immediately countered. Ezra, from his distant vantage point, hears two blades spit and spark. He squints his eyes, adjusting to the pockets of light within the darkness.

The blade is blazing white.

“Luke,” Ezra breathes.

Crimson and starlight cross in an X. The red tries to beat back the white, but a second blade ignites to meet it.

The presence of emerald light takes the Brother by surprise. He staggers as two superior blades crash harshly against his, back pressing against the cave wall. Ash and rock shudders, jolting Ezra out of his stupor.

“LUKE!” Ezra yells, his pained voice echoing through the cave mouth.

Cave mouth?

Luke takes advantage of the Brother’s staggering stance, cracks of light spilling into the passageway through holes in the ceiling. Ezra sees shadows of Luke’s face at last, teeth gritted in a grimace. He collapses the green lightsaber and uses his free hand to grab hold of the Force.

The holes in the ceiling crack, formulating an unsteady mound of rock. Ezra knows what Luke is going to do. He knows it with a certainty that used to scare him when diving into the Force and finding his counterpart right beside him.

Ezra tugs on Kanan’s hand. “We have to go now. Follow my steps and my voice, if you can.”

Kanan nods in agreement, and Ezra takes steps forward. Towards the duel.

The cave mouth is not far. Not as far as it looks, anyway.

Luke releases his hold on the Force as the Brother leaps to advance. Luke ignites both blades again and holds them in a reverse grip, as Ahsoka taught him. The Brother tries to push Luke away to lash at Ezra and Kanan, but Luke holds firm. He plants his feet and crosses both blades over the Brother’s throat.

Luke holds him there, buffeting the Brother with an immense sieve of Light. The Brother hisses as if the holes of light are peeling away layers of skin.

Ezra wouldn’t be surprised if Luke’s light had the capability to do that.

Kanan is quiet as Ezra slinks them past the duel and out of the cave mouth. Ezra murmurs Luke’s name so quietly that only Kanan should have heard it.

But Luke hears it resound in their Force bond, and he removes his lightsabers from the Brother’s throat. 

And as if twisting the hubcap from a starship engine, Luke makes a hand motion that causes the unstable cave to quake and shudder.

Luke rushes over to them, shutting off both lightsabers and securing them on his belt. The cave crashes in on itself, plumes of smoke dusting their skin and clothes.

Ezra grabs the spongy fabric of Luke’s vest and tugs him close. Since Ezra has one side supporting Kanan, Luke tosses an arm around Ezra’s shoulders in a semi-hug.

Ezra tips his head down and mumbles into Luke’s hair, “don’t you do that to me again.”

“‘Oh, thanks for saving our lives and everything,’” Luke says in an overly-cheerful form of Ezra’s carefree drawl. “‘Oh, it’s no problem,’” he says in his own breezy voice. He studies Ezra critically. “You’re going to need stitches, by the way.”

Ezra snorts, tasting cooper on his tongue from his bloody cheek. “We have a bit of a situation, in case you couldn’t tell.”

Luke smiles wanly at Kanan. “Yes, I know. What’s it like, Kanan?”

His face partially moves in Luke’s direction. His voice is soft and contemplative. “I find...that I see better now than I ever have.”

Ezra furrows his brows. Kanan studies Luke’s general vicinity.

“You’re the brightest and most powerful Force sensitive I’ve ever beheld,” Kanan says to Luke. “And I didn’t notice it before. Never even suspected.” He smiles. “Ahsoka concealed you well.”

“I conceal myself well,” Luke corrects lightly.

“Ah,” Kanan chuckles, “yes, indeed.”

Ezra senses familiar figures rush towards the crumbling cave. The Ghost’s engine hums, and somehow, with startling clarity, Ezra knows he will be alright.

They will all be alright.


	10. Age 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, baby,” Breha sniffles, “you have never looked more beautiful.”
> 
> “Mooooom,” Luke shakes his head profusely, “don’t do that. Please. I don’t want you to cry on my account.”
> 
> Breha inhales sharply, blinking several times to disperse moisture. “You’re right.” She exhales a deep breath and smooths out a metallic dress. “You’re absolutely right, honey.” She brushes imaginary lint from Luke’s shoulders as her arms drop to her sides. Breha’s head tips up, and she says, “you know very well that you are being watched tonight. Because of this, I do not want you to feel pressured to choose right away. Just take your turn about the room, speak with them all, and be the sweet man I know you are. Okay?”
> 
> “Yes, Mom,” Luke says with a confident head incline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nux-vomica: a poisonous fruit tree.

Luke tucks his shoulder-length golden hair into a tight bun. Breha, fussing at his side while he stares into a body-length mirror, secures pins adorned with delicate metalwork of blood orange flame lilies. She presses the pins all around in a random pattern, partly for show and partly to hide short split ends. 

He surveys himself in the mirror while his mother works. He wears a three-piece suit: the dress shirt is cream-colored and snug, the vest is red velvet and finely-brushed, and the dinner jacket is Alderaanian maroon. Slacks match the jacket, and shoes shine black on the marble tile.

Breha perches a thin silver circlet on his head. Not his usual ornamental prince’s crown, in order to bring attention to his flame lily pins, which glint like golden blood in the firelight.

Luke’s skin is not as pale as is Alderaanian custom for mountain dwellers; Bail and Breha, meanwhile, have the copper skin of ground-level citizens in sun-exposed settlements. Luke’s skin takes on a bronze tint the longer he is away from home. Breha whispered to him that it made him more handsome, and since he isn’t one to judge such things, he shrugs it off. Luke’s dimples, as well, had grown more defined when he smiled, a trait which gained him favor even from the coldest hearts. And Luke has met some truly cold hearts in his brief time as a Senator thus far. 

Beauty marks are also prominent across his face, which Breha swears are the doing of the mountain gods. 

‘They adore you,’ Breha cooed earlier that day, ‘especially the Mother of Mountains herself.’

With a tanner skin tone came an excess of browning freckles across his nose. At sixteen years old, Luke thought they weren’t attractive anymore; they were just a nuisance. But Breha didn’t agree with him there, either. 

Luke can only thank the gods that the roundness and baby fat in his face is finally gone. His jawline is sharp and defined, his cheekbones visible, which is a highly-attractive trait among his people.

It is funny how he still sees them as his people, even though he doesn’t come from this planet.

Breha places hands on Luke’s shoulder, standing in front of him. Luke tears his gaze from the reflection of himself. He rarely looks at himself in appreciation, but Breha would chide him for being self-absorbed if he looked a moment longer.

Breha’s dark eyes sweep across him, and they fill with water.

“Oh, baby,” Breha sniffles, “you have never looked more beautiful.”

“Mooooom,” Luke shakes his head profusely, “don’t do that. Please. I don’t want you to cry on my account.”

Breha inhales sharply, blinking several times to disperse moisture. “You’re right.” She exhales a deep breath and smooths out a metallic dress. “You’re absolutely right, honey.” She brushes imaginary lint from Luke’s shoulders as her arms drop to her sides. Breha’s head tips up, and she says, “you know very well that you are being watched tonight. Because of this, I do not want you to feel pressured to choose right away. Just take your turn about the room, speak with them all, and be the sweet man I know you are. Okay?”

“Yes, Mom,” Luke says with a confident head incline.

Breha’s mouth curves into a sweet smile. “That’s my son.”

Luke juts out an elbow, gloved hand on hip. “May I escort my Mom to the ball?”

Breha’s snort is followed by a quick laugh. The offer is accepted by Breha’s gloved hand holding his forearm, elbows interlocked.

Luke walks evenly out of his bedroom and towards the chamber. Dozens of contenders are awaiting his entrance into the ballroom. He researched all of them beforehand, and is glad that Bail abided by his preference for young men around his age. It narrows the pool considerably, but Bail would do anything to make Luke content in his eventual marriage, as he has been with Breha.

They take the long way, choosing to make a grand entrance down a curved staircase attached to the chamber. On their way to the double doors atop the staircase, they run into Ahsoka and Winter, who wink at him and send him their compliments.

Guarding the doors, and carrying Luke’s cape, is none other than Ezra.

Luke blinks incredulously at him; he is meant to be downstairs in the ballroom. Ezra is dressed impeccably in his uniform, and his hair is neatly tamed, and his dual cheekbone scars are browner than ever, but something is different. Ezra looks exactly the same as he always does ever since the run-in with the Brother, but something is different.

Ah, yes. Now that Luke is closer, he can make out the issue.

Ezra is faking his smile.

“Your Highness,” Ezra says, a bleeding edge to his voice. His hands splay out the cape, gold-trimmed with an embroidered pearl dove on the red velvet backing. Breha allows him to let go of her arm momentarily, standing and observing.

Luke spins around, brows furrowed as Ezra secures the cape from behind him. “Are you alright, Dante?” He asks lightly, gaze looking over his shoulder.

Ezra’s smile freezes and tightens. “Yes, Your Highness.”

The cape clasps together and Luke spins back around. He squints at Ezra and says, “you know I can read your lies. What is it?”

Ezra’s eyes glisten, and he clips, “I’m just concerned, Your Highness. A lot of guests to watch.”

Luke’s gaze darts across Ezra’s face. He peers into the Force, but Ezra’s shields are erected.

He rarely shields from Luke.

“Honey,” Breha says softly, “come, now. Dante has it handled.”

Luke stares at Ezra for another moment. Ezra ducks his head and looks at his shoes.

He would ask later.

Luke’s cape trails behind him and he puts on a far more passable fake smile. He chirps, “I hear the hors d’oeuvres being served are your favorite. Be sure to enjoy some.”

Ezra glances up and blushes. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Breha locks her elbow around Luke’s, and the double doors are opened.

————

The way they examine his son makes Bail Organa a little sick. It is objectifying. It is inappropriate. It is gaudy and ridiculous and...and…

Luke’s been talking to the same man for far too long. Far too long.

Bail’s heart seizes, his gaze sweeping across the ballroom. Luke made his turn about the room admirably and with haste after meeting a certain teenager…

And Luke is back with him. Back with him, laughing over spiced wine.

It is clear to everyone vying for Luke’s favor who he prefers. The way Luke becomes more animated the longer he speaks shows who won.

Bail regards the person Luke has chosen with a laser focus. He is around the same age as Luke, wearing clothes of a sangria-amethyst color palette. His skin is as pale as snow, and his high cheekbones indicate he is from the inner rim. His hair and brows are a thick brown, his eyes sparkling blue.

Nux Bonteri, son of Lux Bonteri. A bloodline of Senators hailing from Onderon.

Bail wants to think of the strategies of choosing such a match. Comprehend the positives of having Onderon as an ally to Alderaan. 

But all he can think about is that his son deserves the best. Despite the Bonteri family having ties with the Empire and the Rebellion, much like Bail’s own, he is wary of the match.

Luke deserves so much that it is unattainable. No such man exists as the perfect counterpart to Luke that Bail would be satisfied with, at least not in the political realm.

Bail distracts himself from seething by downing a glass of spiced wine. Luke seemed to be enjoying it. Why couldn’t he?

He dares to glance at the guards, specifically the one assigned to Luke. He glides to meet the teenager near a stained-glass window, setting down his empty glass at a refreshment table.

Ezra straightens his posture to prevent from visibly sulking any longer. “Your Highness.”

“The hors d’oeuvres are the ones you like,” Bail says lightly. “Why aren’t you happy about that?”

Ezra musters a poor excuse of a smile. “I am, Your Highness.”

“No you’re not,” Bail frowns, “what’s on your mind?”

Ezra bows his head, glances over at Luke, then back up to Bail. “I’m just worried, Your Highness.”

“Ah, yes,” Bail nods, “so am I.”

Ezra’s eyes widen, a hint of the boy he once was appearing briefly. “Really, Your Highness?”

Bail ensures their conversation can’t be overheard by passerby before saying, “we both know exactly what, and who, Luke deserves.”

Ezra’s breath catches in his throat, and he swallows thickly. He sweats nervously, and he laughs lightly to cover it up.

Now that’s interesting…

Ezra coughs softly, then says, “he deserves someone who...who will treat him right. Who will...wait on him and make him laugh and worship him.” He ducks his head, blushing profusely. He laughs awkwardly, gaze darting everywhere but Bail’s face. “This is what happens when I get into my prince’s poetry books. My apologies, Your Highness.”

My...prince? My prince. My. Prince.

Kriff.

Bail schools his expression. “No apology necessary. Have you seen Breha?”

“Her Majesty went into the kitchens,” Ezra replies curtly, “Your Highness.”

Bail walks in the direction of the kitchens. He pushes open the doors and leans against an unused cabinet, all the color leaving his face at once. 

What has he done?

The kitchen staff pass by with their bows and frowns of concern, but Bail cannot bring himself to exchange courtesies. The world bleeds away into a blur, until all his mind can think about is the epiphany.

He shouldn’t be so shocked. He really shouldn’t be, because it is human nature to grow attached to those one is closest to in life.

What has he done?

Bail’s intentions were innocent. Luke was a young boy who needed a Force-sensitive friend. Ezra was a boy in need of a home, so Bail and Breha took him in. He wanted them to be best friends, but nothing more.

Oh, what has he done? He should have seen this coming!

The scent of starblossoms precedes his wife’s entrance. Bail is sitting on the hard kitchen floor, staring into blank space. Kitchen staff sweep past him with long concerned glances.

Breha crouches down despite her constricting silver skirts, sharpening in Bail’s vision. She is beautiful, and he hates himself for making her worry.

“What is the meaning of this?” Breha asks, a hint of anger in her voice.

Bail smiles lopsidedly. “I’m...I’m sorry. I just...I just...had a...realization.” He inhales sharply through his nose and shakes his head. His cloudy mindset disintegrates. “It can wait. Yes.”

“Are you sure?” Breha inquires, trying to read his eyes and figure out what was wrong without needing to ask.

Bail manages a tight smile. “Yes.”

He places his palms on the kitchen tile and pushes himself up. Breha rises to her feet too, staring at him concernedly.

“This better have been good,” Breha clips, skirts sashaying behind her as she exits the kitchen.

Bail nearly laughs. No sympathy. He wouldn’t expect it.

-

After the guests had gone, Bail overhears the most mesmerizing singing voice he’s ever known. Spellbound and curious, he continues to walk towards it.

The sound brings him to Luke’s double doors, which are slightly ajar, allowing the melody to escape.

Bail cannot help himself. With wide eyes, he pushes open the door so it creaks, indicating his arrival.

The vanity mirror reflects Bail’s entrance, and Luke turns around in his seat. The brush fluffing up his hair, now free of pins, halts in midair, his arm stiffening. The song stops, and a soft hum precedes Luke smiling sweetly at Bail.

“Hi Dad,” Luke chimes.

“Luke...since when can you sing?”

Luke laughs, and it is a melody within itself. “I just found out myself! I’ve never tried before, but,” he shrugs, “I guess I’m alright, huh?”

“Yes,” Bail says, clearing his throat, “so you like Nux.”

Luke chuckles in a two-tone harmony. “How did you get by so long as Senator without tact?” He sets down the hairbrush and beams. “Yes, I like Nux. What’s wrong with that?”

“The usual,” Bail says tightly.

“Oh,” Luke rises smoothly from the vanity ottoman and hugs Bail, “it’s alright. We just have so much in common! It’s marvelous!” He chuckles giddily. “And he’s on our side. In my opinion,” his grin burns Bail’s eyes, “this couldn’t have worked out any better.”

Bail looks down at his son’s face and cannot help but spare a thought for Ezra. Even when Luke and Ezra argued, which Bail is sure happened way before he arrived in the room, Ezra still stayed close. He was too duty-bound to stray far, and it is very possible that Ezra could be next door eavesdropping.

“Well,” Bail says to Luke, “you’re happy. That’s about all I can ask for at the moment.”

Luke’s gaze shifts slightly, as if understanding what Bail was thinking about, but his radiant smile and positive countenance overrides any feelings he has about Ezra’s bad mood.

Bail bids Luke good night and peers into the next room. Ezra is indeed in there, Bail can hear him tossing and turning in bed.

Bail has no idea how to even approach that, so he decides to leave it. Ezra is just as much his son as Luke, but in this case, Breha will have more luck with Ezra.

He finally makes the walk to his bedroom, where, for the sake of full disclosure, Bail tells Breha everything he observed between Luke and Ezra at the party. Breha is so incredulous that something inside her twists and snaps. And it is then that Breha sees it too.

Both decide to do nothing at present.

-

As Luke boards the Tantive V, his own personal vessel, Bail arrives in the docking bay with two packages.

Luke breaks a conversation with one of his men and turns to Bail once he approaches. “Dad! This is a surprise.”

“I want to give you something before you go to base,” Bail says. 

His men, who are carrying the packages, set down two broken droids. One is a blue-white astromech, and the other is a golden-plated protocol droid.

“Uhhhhh,” Luke stares at the solid dead weights, “thanks?”

Bail ensures no guards are listening, and he whispers, “these droids belonged to your parents.”

Luke’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“The only reason I haven’t told you before,” Bail says, “is because they would require a very skilled mechanic to function again.” He winks. “I think you would be up for the task, no?”

Luke smiles brightly. “Of course I would.”

“The astromech is R2-D2, Nubian class,” Bail gestures, “and the protocol is C-3PO, built by your father.”

Luke’s face lights up. “My father was an engineer too? Wow!” Luke beams at the droids. “Thank you, Dad!” He orders one of his men to transport the droids onto the shuttle, which they do quickly and efficiently.

The air shifts, and Bail turns his gaze.

Ezra shaved his head. Military-style.

Bail and Luke gape at the teenager as he approaches the Tantive V with his bag. Despite the harshness in his buzzcut, Ezra’s eyes are bright. He is happier than he was the night before. The contradiction takes Bail aback.

“Your Highnesses,” Ezra says with a head incline. 

He moves forward, and Bail stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“What did you do to your head?” Bail asks, worry seeping into his voice.

Ezra laughs. “I just wanted a change.” His eyes sparkle. “Don’t worry.”

Bail is almost convinced. Almost.

Ezra smiles genuinely at Luke, who purses his lips and turns the other cheek. They used to do this when they were young, but it was all in jest. This time, it is completely serious. 

Bail wishes he knew what was said in their argument.

Ezra does not look away from Luke. A flash of remorse is in his expression.

“Luke,” Ezra says softly, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Luke’s gaze slowly slides towards Ezra.

“More than anything,” Ezra beseeches, “I want you to be happy. I promise. Everything I said was out of concern and...well, mostly concern.”

Concern and love, Bail’s mind finishes for him.

Luke worries his lip, then bobs his head. “Okay. That was the whole truth.” He smiles hesitantly. “Welcome back into my good graces. You may enter my ship.”

“Thank you, my liege,” Ezra says teasingly, brushing past Luke and walking up the ramp.

Is it the whole truth? Has Ezra moved past his jealous rage and accepted the fact that Luke cannot be with him?

Bail must admit...it is very adult of Ezra to let Luke go. And probably for the best.

Bail hugs Luke goodbye and banishes the business from his mind.

————

As the Ghost ramp retracts, docking at a new Rebel base, Ezra almost believes the courting is over with, an isolated incident. Until Luke receives an unexpected guest as he helps Sabine and Zeb unload cargo.

Nux, stupidly handsome and handsomely stupid as ever, wears a big dumb grin on his face once he catches sight of Luke.

“Prince Organa,” Nux’s gaze is wide and sparkling with infinitely ridiculous charm, “I find myself completely blindsided by your arrival.”

Who the fuck talks like that? 

Ezra drops harshly into a booth. Hera and Sabine catch sight of him groaning under his breath. Zeb joins the gathering, too, once Luke beams at Nux.

“That makes two of us,” Luke says, laughing awkwardly. 

Nux, wearing a maroon parka and smuggling pants, hair as neatly combed and gelled as ever, makes it to the ground level of the Ghost. Luke, as if mesmerized, meets him in the middle of his walk.

Ezra refrains from making a snide remark as Kanan enters completely unaided. The Force is his eyes, now, as weird as it sounds.

The Ghost crew gathers to view the grotesque display of affection, squeezing into the booth so Ezra is smashed in the middle.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” Nux blushes, a dumb pink color on his pale cheeks, “but I’m glad I am.”

Luke tips his head up the slightest bit. His lovely lips curl into a sunshine smile that Nux definitely doesn’t deserve. “Oh? And why is that, Senator?”

“I didn’t think you would find me worthy of your time,” Nux says, the complete and utter liar.

Liar, liar, liar. His words are lies.

Shit.

He’s lying.

Ezra blinks over to Kanan and whispers, “do you feel it? The Force?”

Kanan cocks his head to the side. “Perhaps.”

It isn’t an outright negative response. The shaky confirmation is all Ezra needs.

His suspicion of Nux at the courtship ball, he figured, is because of his jealousy. He is not afraid to admit it to himself: he is jealous. It is why he went a little crazy and shaved his head, a strong lapse in his better judgment that he regretted once he looked in the mirror and studied the buzzcut, the uneven mess he created.

He did want Luke to be happy, though. If he lies about everything else, that is the only statement that will ring true, always.

Nux is a liar. So Nux is not the future source of Luke’s happiness. Not anymore. Ezra would have accepted Nux’s presence in Luke’s life before this moment, but Ezra follows his gut reaction; all of his teachers have admired his perceptiveness. 

Ezra will rescind Nux’s right to Luke’s heart himself, if he has to.

Luke blushes at Nux’s flirtation. He doesn’t suspect anything amiss!

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Luke murmurs, “you’re the best offer I’ve had.”

“Oh?” Nux laughs awkwardly, like an idiot. “I would think that there would be more competition. How fortuitous.”

Ezra rolls his eyes so far they reach the back of his head.

“Jealous?” Sabine wonders, preparing to tease him about it.

But it’s no laughing matter. The word hits a little too close to home.

Ezra pointedly looks away from Sabine. Hera and Zeb notice. Hell, even Kanan notices.

They fall silent.

“This might be too forward,” Nux says, his stupid blush deepening into a red color, which makes him uglier to Ezra, “but I want to say that you look more beautiful every time I look upon you.”

Ezra wants to throw his head back and groan as loud as he can. Anything to make this conversation be over sooner.

And he knows Luke is beautiful. Sheesh. No need to make a showing of it all.

Luke practically squeaks in the midst of his swoon. “Not too forward at all,” his dimples and eyes shine, “that’s very sweet of you to say. You are handsome as well.”

A voice calls up the extended platform of the Ghost. Ezra thanks every god that the voice is asking for Nux.

Nux blushes profusely, the vapid fool. “I have to get back to my team. Very important charity work is, um, happening.”

Luke swoons again at the word ‘charity.’ Ezra wants to vomit. Is Luke buying this false sincerity?

He is. Mother of Mountains.

“That’s very important indeed,” Luke smiles, “I’ll see you around, Senator.”

Nux smiles back. “I’ll see you around, Your Highness.”

He walks down the ramp and is gone. Luke watches after him, a man who doesn’t deserve to be watched after.

Luke turns around at the eavesdropping group assembled at the booth. “All of you,” he hisses in embarrassment, a blush coloring his cheeks, “shush!”

They all pretend to laugh.

-

The party is a formal event thrown by Mon to celebrate the Rebellion’s anniversary. When Ezra catches even Wedge Antilles wearing a suit, he feels odd in a tamer Alderaanian guard uniform used for sparring at the palace: a number made entirely of maroon chiffon fabric for lightness.

Somehow, he is the most informally-clothed person there.

He enters the ballroom and finds Luke talking to Nux. Animatedly. Again.

Shara and Kes come over to offer hugs, which Ezra takes them up on. After a brief chat, he later finds himself at the dessert table beside Winter and Evaan, who are making fun of their fellow officers.

“That petticoat is a disaster,” Winter points out.

“Not as much of a disaster as that wig,” Evaan counters.

Ezra settles for staring at the joyful couple near the bar, peeking into the Force.

Something is...off about Nux. Definitely off.

Ezra tears his eyes away and chucks in a few good-natured insults of his own. It gets his mind away from Luke for a little while.

But then Luke is gone. He had run off with Nux!

Ezra excuses himself, heart jumping out of his chest. His heart rate spikes with fear and anxiety. His mind runs wild at everything that could be going wrong as he exits the ballroom.

He finds the couple outside on the terrace, a stone gate barring them from leaving the property. The air is crisp and cold at night, and Ezra hides near a stone railing.

Luke can sense he is near, but Luke gives no indication to shoo him away. Luke is too absorbed in Nux.

Nux says, “I didn’t think you’d look as ravishing in the night, but you are even more radiant.”

Ezra folds his arms and rolls his eyes.

Luke smiles, but there is an edge to it. An invisible layer beneath it, which Ezra can pierce through the Force.

Luke knows something. He sees it too!

“I am surprised you haven’t run out of compliments yet,” Luke teases lightly. “You must have an extensive vocabulary.”

“Ah, yes,” Nux chuckles nervously, “I must admit you have me spellbound.”

“If you are under my spell,” Luke says airily, “then you must be honest with me.”

A shadow passes over Nux’s eyes. He feigns puzzlement. “I...I am honest with you.”

“I must ask you a question,” Luke says, gaze beseeching, “a very important question.”

Nux blinks and frowns. “I...alright.”

“How long,” Luke’s voice bleeds with emotion, “have you been a triple agent for the Empire?” 

Ezra trips and crashes into a stone wall. He stares openly at Nux, gaping as Nux salvages a recovery.

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” Nux swallows thickly, stepping back, “I have n-no idea what you mean.”

Luke’s profile, from Ezra’s vantage point, twists into something as cold and harsh as the weather. “Sure you don’t,” Luke chirps, “I’m sure,” he pulls a holo out of his pocket and flicks on a listing of data, “this is all a misunderstanding. I’m sure you’re not copying and sending Mon’s top secret data to the Empire.”

Ezra’s chest collapses in a shaky exhale. He cannot look away from this scene, cannot even blink.

Nux backpedals and stumbles away, shaking his head. Everything crashes in on him, and Ezra hears the glass terrace doors open.

Nux smashes right into the torso of Wedge Antilles, who immediately slaps tight binders around Nux’s wrists. Wedge is not kind as she drags Nux back through the door, a swarm of Mon’s men dragging him away.

The night air is still. A cold breeze gives Ezra goosebumps. 

And Luke turns towards the darkness and cries, hand covering his mouth, the evidence of Nux’s betrayal slipped into his pocket. His elbows collapse onto the stone railing, and trail upon trail of tears runs down Luke’s moonlit face. He muffles his cries, but his shoulders still shake from the force of the outpouring emotions.

Ezra steps out of the shadows, and Luke inhales through his nose sharply.

“Are you happy now?” Luke manages, facing the shapeless darkness. “Come to gloat about how you were right to be wary of him?”

Ezra folds his arms and shivers from a sudden wind chill. He shakes his head, even though Luke can’t see it, walking to stand beside Luke. Ezra observes the transparent tears wetting Luke’s luminescent skin, nearly kicking himself for thinking he cries pretty.

“No,” Ezra replies bitterly, “no, I’m not happy.”

Luke finally faces him, sniffling and wiping some tear tracks away with a hasty hand swipe. His celestial eyes glisten, and his lip trembles.

Ezra did not expect any of this to happen. His foresight only went so far, and they were both blinded by jealousy and love, respectively. He can’t imagine how hard it was for Luke to hear from Mon that Nux is a traitor. 

And he can’t imagine how hard it was for Luke to trap Nux this way.

Ezra holds out his arms. “I’m so sorry, Luke.”

Luke stares at his open arms, advertising a hug, and sniffles. “I don’t think you want me to snot all over you.”

“Yes I do,” Ezra half-steps closer, “come here.”

Luke shuffles into Ezra’s arms, which capture him in a hug. Luke hides his face in Ezra’s chest and cries. Ezra rubs his back and shushes him. Luke melts right into him, and Ezra rests his chin atop Luke’s head.

This is enough for Ezra, he realizes. This is enough.

Ezra holds Luke for the rest of the night, until the party is over and the property lights go dark.


	11. Age 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Kanan trudging carefully beside him, Ezra’s gaze sweeps from the cracked thin ground to the marketplace surrounding sandstone buildings. Ezra sees a little girl hop over cracks like it is a game, when the ground could split at any moment. This area used to be grasslands, but stormtroopers torched it long ago; large sectors of Lothal have become an arid desert. The Imperial presence is thick, but it is not what Ezra focuses on. He observes copper-skinned humanoids with the same dark blue eyes and raven hair as him, and can only think: he is home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since my city is half-shutdown, this fic will get done sooner than anticipated (not that it’s a bad thing). 
> 
> Stay safe and healthy, readers, as I write like mad between online classes.

“You’re fortunate you can’t see, Kanan,” Ezra says as they enter a starship, Kanan holding onto his arm, “we’re inside a flying trash compactor.”

The copilot of said ship chortles, remarking a shared sentiment in Shyriiwook. The Wookiee disappears into the cockpit as the pilot whirls around as if offended.

“I’m sure your Rebel forces have plenty of smuggling ships,” the Corellian pirate snorts, “so any more insults will get you thrown from an airlock.”

“Throwing a blind man from an airlock,” Ezra says dryly, ushering Kanan into a circular booth, “that’ll go over well with the woman paying you after this is done.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Han Solo waves his hand, poking his head into the cockpit. The Wookiee, Chewbacca, growls at Han to be nicer, which is ignored. “Strap in, the both of you. Entering a war zone isn’t going to be easy, even for the most talented pilot among us,” Han points a thumb at himself, “which is yours truly.”

Han steps into the cockpit and shuts the blast door before Ezra can snort in his face for his hubris.

“Pirates,” Kanan muses, “always an entertaining breed.”

“You know you’re technically a pirate, right?” Ezra chimes, concealing a smile even though he didn’t have to.

“That makes you,” Kanan counters, “an associate to an entire band of pirates.”

The engines power on and roar. Ezra thanks every god that this starship can even fly.

The duo falls into silence until a course is charted to their destination. Han and Chewbacca do not exit the cockpit, so Kanan turns towards Ezra.

“I can sense your nervousness.”

“Can you really?”

“It’s perfectly normal,” Kanan reassures. “You haven’t been to your home in a decade. I have stayed away from my own for even longer.”

Ezra’s mouth twitches into a frown. “I only wish I could have been of use sooner. Lothal’s been at civil war for so long it’s almost unbelievable.”

“You will have to exercise some of Luke’s characteristics, I predict.”

“He did get me here,” Ezra contemplates. “I will owe him forever for that.”

“The bill passage comes too late for my liking,” Kanan says, “but it is my hope we can change what we can. But first…”

Ezra nods curtly. “Yes. The Temple.”

-

After Han Solo and Chewbacca are paid at Lothal’s main spaceport, Ezra takes his first steps onto the land he left ten years ago.

With Kanan trudging carefully beside him, Ezra’s gaze sweeps from the cracked thin ground to the marketplace surrounding sandstone buildings. Ezra sees a little girl hop over cracks like it is a game, when the ground could split at any moment. This area used to be grasslands, but stormtroopers torched it long ago; large sectors of Lothal have become an arid desert. The Imperial presence is thick, but it is not what Ezra focuses on. He observes copper-skinned humanoids with the same dark blue eyes and raven hair as him, and can only think: he is home.

The Force joins him as a companion, sweeping and swirling as Ezra’s heart swells.

Kanan allows Ezra to guide him, refusing to rush him or ruin the moment by speaking. 

The more Ezra walks among his people, the more he remembers where to go. His compass comes back to him like an old friend. The sun beating down on him makes him smile, not frown like several passerby.

‘I want to try my home,’ Ezra says to Kanan through the Force.

Kanan nods in assent.

Ezra walks away from the marketplace, to the blocks and blocks of housing a half-mile away. His house is on the outskirts of this block, where transportation docks for public use. On his way, Ezra passes vaguely familiar faces and a sea of unknown ones. None of them focus on his maroon-cloaked form.

Kanan trails a pace behind Ezra in his brown cloak, head sweeping this way and that, as if studying the shadows in the Force.

When they reach Ezra’s old neighborhood, firebrands littering every sandstone home in the area, Kanan stops in his tracks.

Ezra turns around and furrows his brows. “What?”

“This is what you escaped?” Even though Kanan doesn’t see the extensive fire damage, his expression twists like he feels it.

That’s a disturbing thought.

“Yes,” Ezra replies curtly. “Come on.”

Kanan follows, albeit hesitantly. Ezra soon reaches the outskirts, where his home rested near a steep decline. Down the decline, if they went far enough, would lead them to the grasslands and the Jedi Temple.

Ezra’s house is burnt to cinders. No one bothered to clean it up, and he caught someone stealing a stone slab to sharpen a dull blade. 

It is a grotesque monument, but a mainstay nonetheless.

“Darkness,” Kanan mutters.

Ezra turns his head. “Hm?”

“Darkness,” Kanan repeats, sweeping his hand over the house’s image as if trying to clean a filthy window.

Well, that can’t be good.

“Imperials set the house and the grass on fire,” Ezra quips, “so it obviously isn’t sunshine and tookas.”

Kanan smacks Ezra’s arm with shocking precision.

“Ow!” Ezra grabs his arm and hisses. “Rude!”

“Where did it happen?” Kanan asks gravely.

Ezra frowns. He glances at the wall they left behind, singed with at least a hundred blaster marks. “The wall to your left.”

Kanan sighs. “The dead are all around us.”

“Comforting,” Ezra clips, “real comforting. Can you not be creepy, please? Think about Hera or something.”

Kanan bristles. The remark gets him every time. Ezra has no idea who Kanan thinks he’s fooling; he’s been in love with Hera since the beginning of time itself. Hiding their relationship for the sake of professionalism doesn’t change that.

“Are you,” Kanan asks warily, “alright, Ezra?”

Ezra winces. “As well as I can be,” he answers truthfully, “but better than I was before.”

Kanan nods in understanding.

“Come on,” Ezra says, trudging away from the scene of his burnt-down house and the execution wall, “there’s a section of public landspeeders to the east.”

-

The Temple is a dark chamber of ghosts and forgotten Jedi. Ezra ignites his yellow lightsaber to guide him forward, Kanan using the Force itself to lead him in the right direction.

Growls permeate from the shadows, and Ezra is soon faced with blue-gold eyes.

He steps back, and an animal manifests away from the darkness. He backpedals until the creature can be seen in the light.

He gasps when a Loth-wolf the same height as him approaches.

“Don’t worry,” Kanan’s voice echoes, “she’s smelling your aura.”

Ezra tenses up slightly anyway, unsure what to do. He settles for shutting off his lightsaber and standing perfectly still.

A nose brushes Ezra’s chest, and he cannot help the two-tone chuckle that escapes his lips.

It’s behaving like a baby Loth-cat!

The wolf’s muzzle snuggles into Ezra’s torso, digging and sniffing inside his cloak. He laughs delightedly, his free hand brushing the fur near its ear. The ear perks slightly, and the nose sniffs out a protein bar in Ezra’s inner jacket pocket.

“Want some?” Ezra asks the Loth-wolf. “You can have some.”

Ezra digs his free hand into the rust-colored leather and grasps the plastic wrapper. He pulls out the treat, the wolf’s nose nuzzling it the entire way. Ezra laughs and breaks the bar while still in the wrapper. He is unsure if the wolf will like it, but it’s probably starving. He knows better than to leave a starving animal when it needs help.

Ezra tears the plastic away and offers the wolf a broken piece of the protein bar. Before he can set it on the ground, the wolf’s tongue slops it out of Ezra’s open palm.

“Aw,” Ezra brushes the wolf’s furry head and tucks away the bar, “it’s alright. You’re alright.”

“Hm!”

Ezra’s head snaps behind him, and the Loth-wolf slips away. He looks around the shadows and starts to panic.

Where is Kanan?

“A kind soul, you are,” a voice echoes.

Ezra turns in front of him, and a blue creature shimmers in a beam of holo-esque light. He is small and green, with big ears and a wizened face. Ezra has heard of this being before, so his jaw drops in shock.

“You’re Yoda,” he says incredulously. “How are you doing that?”

The being only chuckles.

“Where’s Kanan?” Ezra asks worriedly, clipping the double-sided lightsaber hilt to his utility belt. “How are you here?” He sits criss-cross to reach Yoda’s level. “You’re supposed to be in exile.”

“Fine, Kanan is,” Yoda says. “Here, I am, to meet you.” He chortles. “In exile, I am not.”

“Where are you, then, if not out of reach of those who need your guidance?” Ezra inquires.

“Hm. Have anger, do you?” Yoda’s transparent cane smacks against the ground, and the loud sound makes Ezra flinch.

Torches throughout the chamber are set alight as if the cane ignited a spark. Ezra studies the holographic being with an arched brow.

“Not anger,” Ezra clarifies, “just disappointment.”

“Know nothing, you do.”

“Ummmmm,” Ezra cocks his head to the side, “I think I know something, at least.”

“The wall lights,” Yoda taps his cane to snuff out the torches, bringing attention to the electrical lights throughout the chamber, “turn them on.”

It is Ezra’s instinct to squeeze his eyes shut and force the lights on out of spite. 

He couldn’t do that. He has to think.

Thinking comes from within...and so does light.

Ezra throws his smugness at discovering a solution into a Force receptacle. Ahsoka taught him to always remain humble and meditate away negative emotions.

Ezra has seen Luke’s light firsthand. Luke confided in him what had happened in that cave on Alderaan where the Force tested them both. Luke revealed that the kyber crystals came from the light in his chest, and his uncorrupted soul powered his blades. Ezra’s own crystals had come from thin air, but that doesn’t mean he is devoid of light inside.

He shuts his eyes and takes a calming breath. In through the nose and out through the mouth.

As he does while meditating, Ezra looks within. He looks deeper into himself than he ever has before. 

Memories, the good and the bad, flicker across Ezra’s mind like a slideshow. He allows himself to feel them all, every emotion from bone-chilling apprehension to pure innocent joy. They soak in, but Ezra does not let them stick.

His breath shallows, and he can feel it: his inner light, a blazing Lothal sun stuffed into a singular being, a being that’s all of him, DNA strands and quirks and flaws jumbled into one person, a melody mingling with twin moons and the fissured planet beneath Ezra’s body and the dazzling stars and the entire war-torn galaxy.

Ezra opens his eyes with an even exhale, and the Temple is bathed in golden light.

Yoda slips and crashes onto the floor. He uses his cane to regain his footing, and Ezra bats his lashes in consideration.

“Strong, you are,” Yoda croaks. “Enlightened. Guidance, you do not need. Bear fruit, you will. The trials, you have passed.”

Ezra furrows his brows. “Trials? What trials?”

Yoda chuckles and smacks his cane against the ground once more. He disappears as if a mist in the air.

Ezra blinks once and uses his palms to rise to his feet. He huffs and raises his voice. “You’re so weird, Kanan!”

Kanan’s laughter echoes across the chamber as he enters it.

————

“We have been called criminals, but we are not.”

Luke drops into a chair, eyes wide, as the transmission is broadcast through the strategy room.

“We are rebels, fighting for the people, fighting for you.”

His ears are not deceiving him. That is Ezra’s voice. Ezra’s voice!

“I’m not that old, but I remember a time when things were better on Lothal. Maybe not great, but never like this.”

The emotion! The pain! The bitterness! Luke cannot sieve those feelings through his speeches, no matter how hard he tries!

“See what the Empire has done to your lives, your families, and your freedom? It’s only gonna get worse…unless we stand up and fight back.”

Mon approaches Luke with an incredulous expression on her face. Luke simply listens.

“It won’t be easy. There will be loss and sacrifice. But we can’t back down just because we’re afraid. That’s when we need to stand the tallest.”

Luke should ask Ezra to help with his speeches more often. But he must admit: nothing can beat speaking directly from the heart.

“That’s what my parents taught me. That’s what my new family helped me remember. Stand up together. Because that’s when we’re strongest: as one.”

The broadcast ends, and the entirety of the room falls into a contemplative silence. Luke can’t help but smile like an idiot. He’s so proud of Ezra. Luke can’t imagine what it must have been like to return to the home planet he had to run away from.

Mon, breaking the trance of the room packed with high-level officers, asks, “did we get that out to other star systems?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Wedge says from his holo screen station. “A good portion of the outer rim could hear the transmission if their radios were dialed on.”

Winter enters the room as if having been jogging, out of breath. “Whose voice was that?” She asks in a bomb burst. “I don’t recognize it.”

Evaan rushes in after Winter. “Neither do I,” she gasps. She takes a calming breath after running and says pointedly, “I thought we knew everyone, Mon.”

“You do,” Mon replies coolly. Her glinting eyes sweep down to Luke, who still sits near the map table. Luke nods in agreement.

Ezra has long since wanted to shed his false identity, Dante Organa. Let it begin now; Ezra won’t mind.

“That is the voice of Ezra Bridger,” Mon says, “son of Lothalian freedom fighters Mira and Ephraim Bridger. You may know him by the name Dante Organa.”

Wedge falls out of his chair, crashing to the ground upon overhearing the words. Luke peers over at the shocked reactions of half the officers in the room. Ezra had made it a bit of a game as to who knew his real name and who didn’t.

Evaan’s wide eyes affix to Luke. “You knew about this?!”

Luke hums and nods in assent. “And I’m sure you did your digging,” Luke says to Evaan and Winter airily. “I know you both too well.”

Winter makes a disgruntled noise. “Why did I become a spy when the prince can simply read my face?”

Luke smiles gently.

He can do more than just read their face, not that they will ever know.

-

Luke waits until nightfall for Ezra to return to the Atollon base. He perches on the extended Tantive V ramp, facing the bay doors, which could open at any moment.

He closes his eyes and sits criss-cross. He meditates, receiving puzzled looks from afar. 

Luke almost smiles; it is hilarious, how little they know of his abilities. They only know about Ezra and Kanan.

Luke concentrates. If he focuses enough, he can see Ezra’s general surroundings.

He pinches the Force bond between them and follows Ezra’s end of it like a string. He balances on the rickety bridge stretched thin by the distance.

The image plays in his mind. Ezra is staring out of the window, the Ghost having picked him and Kanan up after Imperial forces were driven out of Lothal’s capital city.

“Hi, Luke,” Ezra murmurs to the stars.

Luke blushes. “Hi.”

“I’ll be there very soon,” Ezra promises.

Luke hums, pulling away from his connection to Ezra. He opens his eyes, and waits for the bay doors to retract.

Fifteen minutes pass, and it happens. Luke watches the Ghost dock for several minutes, officers scattering about to secure the ship. The platform extends, and Ezra has his bag over one shoulder.

Their eyes meet across a short distance, and they smile at each other.

Ezra advances, and Luke hears his comm chime. He pulls the circular device out of his pocket and flicks it on.

A hologram of a red emergency light plays across Luke’s face. Dread fills him like a glass of wine, and he pales like a ghost.

Ezra frowns as he halts on the Tantive V ramp and stares unblinking at the red light. His eyes slide over to Luke’s fearfully.

Luke gulps and flicks off the message. An emergency Senate meeting isn’t good at all.

“Fuck,” Luke mutters under his breath. He stuffs the comm in his pocket and rises to his feet. “We need to go.”

“The clock says eight hours,” Ezra says slowly. “We’re ten hours away!”

Luke regards Ezra gravely. “Not if I fly.”

“LUKE!”

Luke whips his head to the side. Ahsoka rushes to him, eyes wide and short of breath. 

“‘Soka,” Luke frowns, “what’s the matter?”

“I need to,” Ahsoka grasps his forearm, “I need to tell you something right away.”

Before Ahsoka can pull him to the side, Luke says, “I have a red light. Make it less than a minute.”

At those words, Ahsoka never looked more afraid. She tugs Luke out of Ezra’s earshot anyway. Ezra makes himself useful by entering the Tantive V and firing up the ship.

Ahsoka ensures no one is listening, and she says frantically, “I have no idea how to break this to you gently, but I just returned from Dathomir and encountered Darth Vader.”

“Mother of Mountains,” Luke curses. “Are you hurt? Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Ahsoka rushes, “that’s not the issue. I know Vader’s identity.”

“Wow,” Luke says eagerly, “how fortunate. Who is he?”

Ahsoka’s gaze darts across his face. Her hesitation spills over into a waterfall. She leans forward until she is whispering in his ear.

“Darth Vader is Anakin Skywalker.”

Luke’s breath is stolen, and his mind jerks into a full stop. His eyes dash across Ahsoka’s expression as she pulls back for any sign of falsity.

But the Force...the Force tells him it is true.

And the truth is as loud as a vibrating gong.

Luke exhales in a shaky mountain slide of boulders, his entire being crashing around him in resounding thunks.

“Mother of Mountains,” Luke backpedals despite his paralysis, “what...what do I do?” His eyes glisten. “Ahsoka, what do I do? I don’t...I don’t know what to do.”

Ahsoka cups his face, preventing Luke from stumbling away. “Enough of that! That monster is the shell of your father! He is corrupted by the Dark! You are nothing like him! You are the Light!”

A tear falls from Luke’s eye, and his lip quivers. “But I must look like him,” he sniffles, “and that’s enough, isn’t it?”

“No,” Ahsoka insists, shaking her head furiously. “It’s all about this.” Her hands tear from his cheeks and point to his heart. “All about this. Now be strong! Go to the Senate, and do not so much as flinch!”

Luke would find Ahsoka harsh, under any other circumstances. He would wrench away and say this is not the woman he knows so well.

But dueling against her former Master has her positively rattled. Luke can only be grateful that Ahsoka ran to tell him the truth she’s discovered before anyone else.

Luke takes a calming breath. Now is not the time to lose control and scream into a void.

He nods decisively at Ahsoka, and he jogs to the starship ramp. As he ascends the Tantive V, Luke does not look back.

-

“By the gods,” Ezra declares, “you’re very fortunate that I didn’t vomit all over your robes while you were flying.”

Luke snorts as he smooths over maroon robes with a pearl dove on the breast pocket to symbolize his planet. The robes are purposefully loose on his form; the last time he wore a form-fitting doublet to a meeting, he was ridiculed for having ‘too much appeal.’ It had Luke snickering when the news holo headline was released, but he took the criticism seriously.

Ezra hands Luke the hairbrush, which he uses to unknot windblown strands. Luke’s golden hair now passed his shoulders, but he tied it up after being called ‘too feminine’ by a style holo channel.

And if it’s one hobby Luke takes seriously, besides piloting, it is his forays into style and fashion.

Once Luke sets the hairbrush down, Ezra is already gathering up his hair. Ezra takes two sections and forms a thick braid, tying it together with a thin black string. The braid is then brought into a coil on the back of Luke’s head, stuck into place with even more string. Loose sections of blonde hair near Luke’s bangs are secured with flame lily pins that Breha had made for the event of his courtship ball. Luke has brought the pins with him everywhere since.

Ezra pushes in the final pin scattered about the sides of Luke’s head, then steps back and regards his handiwork in lieu of a mirror.

Ezra’s flummoxed and awestruck expression is enough for Luke to know how good he looks.

Ezra smiles like the gleeful kid he used to be. “Well, we managed it. And we have a half hour to spare!”

Luke smiles back amusedly, refusing to marinate in his despair over Ahsoka’s discovery; he has other priorities. “I didn’t get to compliment you on your work in Lothal. That siege was well-done. And I couldn’t have delivered the transmission better myself.”

Ezra flushes, as he always does upon being praised. “It’s been a real whirlwind, hasn’t it?” He laughs awkwardly and musses up his own hair, which was growing back fast despite Ezra shaving it down.

Luke hums in agreement. “While we have a few minutes, tell me about the Temple.”

Ezra’s eyes widen in concern as his head darts around Luke’s Coruscant apartment.

Luke chuckles. “There’s no bugs here. I checked with the Force.”

“Alright.” Ezra’s blush deepens, gaze settling on Luke. “I trust your judgment.”

Luke gestures to the couch in his living area, and Ezra sits. Luke takes the chair across from it, elbow on the side while his hand presses his cheek. He waits.

Ezra clears his throat to get comfortable. Luke is unsure why he is so jittery and nervous.

“It’s just me,” Luke murmurs.

“Yes,” Ezra smiles brightly, “it’s just you. I can tell you. Um.” He looks away briefly, then back to Luke. “Going back wasn’t as strange as I thought it would be. I still remembered where everything was, oddly enough. And seeing my house, seeing the wall where...it happened...it only brought me peace. I know my parents are happy, wherever they are, in whatever afterlife there is the galaxy. And the Temple...the Temple was something else entirely.”

Luke’s hand presses into his cheek a little harder. “What do you mean?”

“The Temple, everything that happens inside it, everything I saw, was a test, though it didn’t seem like it,” Ezra says. “I found a Loth-wolf and offered it food. That was a test. I have a verbal sparring match with a hologram of Master Yoda himself. That was a test.”

“What,” Luke interrupts flatly.

“Yeah,” Ezra confirms, “Master Yoda. Yeah. I know.”

“That’s bizarre,” Luke comments. “What did he even say to you?”

“The third test,” Ezra replies, “was to turn on the lights. I used my soul to do it, and I passed. After that, Yoda said, roughly, five sentences in backwards speech.”

“May I hear them?”

“He said I was strong, that I was enlightened,” Ezra recites. “He said I do not need guidance, I will bear fruit, and I have passed the trials.”

“Those first three sound like compliments,” Luke says with a teasing smile. “And trials are simply a synonym for tests.” He worries his lip as he thinks. “But what does bearing fruit mean?”

Ezra laughs awkwardly. “I didn’t know what that meant either. I looked it up in the Temple’s limited records, and I made a discovery.”

“That makes me want to know more,” Luke says with a wink.

Ezra does not react to the humor. He musses his hair up again, then looks away. “Uh...I learned that...well...Lothalian males are an…interesting people for...um...for reproductive study.”

Luke inhales sharply, and he stares wide-eyed at Ezra.

“You’re telling me,” Luke says, “that Lothalian males bear children.”

Ezra nods slowly, picking his head up to finally meet Luke’s eyes.

“Cool!” Luke exclaims, shooting out of his chair. “That’s so cool!” He plops beside Ezra, mouth frozen in a grin. “Why were you worried to tell me?”

“Well,” Ezra ducks his head nervously, “it’s...it’s weird. It’s a very weird way to find that out about yourself.”

Luke hums, his momentary fascination at learning something new fading. He is unable to imagine what Ezra thought when he found out this life-changing information, so he sobers up quickly. “You’re right. A little old green guy telling you about your body? Yeah, weird just about covers it.”

Ezra chuckles lightheartedly, eyeing Luke carefully. “You can argue our very existences are even weirder.”

“True.” Luke smiles meekly. “I won’t tell anyone. You clearly need time to become comfortable with everything.” He rises to his feet, his tone growing serious for a moment. “Your trust means everything to me.”

After holding his gaze for a beat, Ezra glances at the time, then coughs pointedly. “We should get moving, Senator.”

Luke nods and allows Ezra to guide him out of the apartment.

————

Mon’s office is nearly pounded down by the force of Wedge’s knock. “Ma’am! Turn on the holo news!”

Mon frowns but does as Wedge asks. She shuts down her inbox and pulls up the news on her holo screen.

The headline blazes through her eyes and into her brain: “Double Agent Senators Executed in Emergency Session.”

“Oh Lord of the Heavens,” Mon says aloud, the words tasting like ash in her mouth.

She scrolls through the five Senators who were executed; all of them work for the Rebellion discreetly.

“No,” she breathes, though it is not enough. No words she can possibly say are enough.

Mon can only spare prayers for the dozens of Senators who have yet to be found as double agents. Their biggest hope, Luke Organa, is not on the list. But it is a bittersweet victory.

Luke has to be more discreet than ever. She may not see him for a very long time.

For now, she has to arrange five memorial services.


	12. Age 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If this Jedi,” Vader says it like a dirty word, “presents himself to me now, the executions will end.”
> 
> Luke’s heart twists and his face drains of blood flow. This is it. This is the end.
> 
> And his father is going to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My city is now completely shut down, so that’s chill.
> 
> This is the chapter readers have been waiting for!

Luke is quaking beneath his Senatorial robes. It has been months since Vader started executing double agents, and the count has finally reached twenty.

Twenty souls, gone from the Senate with the swipe of a bleeding red blade.

Luke has had enough. He is tired of all the death. He is tired of Coruscant being his prison, his gilded cage.

The Rebellion does not want Luke compromised, but this is worth the risk. This is worth telling Vader a half-truth for.

The last execution was a month ago. That meant another one was coming up.

So when Luke enters the rapidly-declining Senate chamber, rife with the smell of fear and low whispers, he is ready to surrender himself.

Ezra, ever his closest companion on his floating circular dais, squeezes the hands clasped behind Luke’s back to banish his fear. Since Luke can rarely keep Ezra out of the loop, Ezra knows what he’s going to do. And Ezra is prepared for the unknown After, where he would surely have to mount a search-and-rescue mission.

But Vader takes center stage, who’s been covering up for the Emperor’s secret dastardly plans, and says something entirely unexpected.

“It has come to my attention,” Darth Vader announces coldly, “that there is a Force sensitive in this very chamber.”

Gasps resound in a choir, and Luke throws his anxiety into the Force.

“There are not only double agents,” Vader says, his vocoder sending a chill through the chamber, “but there is someone far more dangerous among us: a Jedi.”

Senators backpedal in visceral reactions.

“If this Jedi,” Vader says it like a dirty word, “presents himself to me now, the executions will end.”

Luke’s heart twists and his face drains of blood flow. This is it. This is the end.

And his father is going to kill him.

Luke turns to his royal guards, sending them curt nods. They bristle, but Ezra boldly steps forward.

“No,” Ezra whispers, the pain in his voice wrenching Luke’s gut, “no.”

“The plan remains the same,” Luke says. His smile is false and tight; he can’t let Ezra know he expects to die.

“Luke,” Ezra’s eyes threaten to spill over, “no.”

Luke can see it, his future: he will stand, Vader will raise his hand, Luke will float, Vader will clench his fist, and Luke will suffocate to death, the Dark Side closing the airway in his throat. His body will fall, fall, fall, until it hits the ground so hard it’ll crush his bones, leaving the janitors to clean him up.

He realizes that he doesn’t have much time. He realizes that he needs to make a sacrifice. He realizes too late that he never did what he always meant to.

So he leans forward until his mouth ghosts Ezra’s ear. Ezra stiffens in confusion, but does not pull back.

Luke whispers, “even when I made you think otherwise, I always knew you were the One I was meant to love.”

Ezra’s breath catches in his throat, and his eyes glisten as he meets Luke’s eyes, reading the truth in Luke’s very soul.

Luke steps back heavily and takes a meditative breath. He spins around and boldly stands on the edge of the dais.

The motion has every frantic head turning in his direction and gasping in varying degrees of shock.

Luke steps off the edge and uses the Force as his platform. He walks an invisible tightrope, hardly missing a bound as Vader watches with immense interest. Luke drowns out exclamations and questions as to how he was using his ability this way. Luke has found that he can do just about anything with the Force.

Darth Vader struggles to breathe as Luke gets closer to center stage. Luke is fearless as he approaches the dais.

Vader senses something in Luke that causes his aura, his smoky dark monster of an aura, to twinge. He holds up his hands, and the chamber doors are forced open.

“Leave us,” Vader booms, Senators flying out of the chamber with swift feet.

They didn’t need to be told twice.

“You,” Vader accuses, the vocoder banging on Luke’s heartbeat, “I should have known Bail Organa’s slithering son was hiding something.”

Luke drops onto the dais, landing on his feet smoothly. He tips his head up to the onyx plasteel mask, and he is glad his reflection is that of a calm and collected Senator.

The chamber doors close, everyone having left Luke to his fate.

“I can see your power now,” Vader’s voice is a worm digging into his ear, “it is enough to destroy worlds, entire star systems. It would do you good to join me.”

Luke stares up defiantly at Vader. “I would rather survive a thousand deaths.”

Darth Vader breathes loudly and laboriously through his mask. “You are just a child. I will forgive your error in speaking to me this way.” He looms over Luke, splaying out a hand. Black-gloved fingers brush Luke’s cheek in a ghost of a caress, then clamps hard on his jaw.

Luke does not flinch, as he promised Ahsoka before he became Coruscant’s prisoner all those months ago.

“Join me,” Darth Vader says viciously, “or die.”

Luke grits his teeth and spits through them, “how about before you kill me, I give you information that will change everything, out of the kindness in my slithering heart?”

Vader retracts his grip on Luke’s chin, allowing his mouth to move. Luke clenches his jaw and gives Vader his darkest glare.

“What possible information,” Vader seethes, “can you have that would not be a waste of my time?”

“Perhaps the fact that I know who you are, Anakin Skywalker,” Luke says lightly, smoothing out his expression. “The fact that I know your child is alive.” He pauses as Vader takes a step back. “Correction: children. You are a father of twins. Congratulations!” He throws his head back and laughs, the sound twisting into a knife, cut short like a slice to the throat. Luke bats his lashes, as if he does not have a care in the universe. “I fear you will never know them, if you so much as lay a finger on me ever again.”

Luke hardly recognizes himself; he feeds on Vader’s darkness. What he is doing is dangerous, he knows it, but another choice has yet to present itself in the bleakness.

Darth Vader stumbles, and it triggers something in Luke. Vader’s massive suit does not seem so...perilous and terrifying, for the slightest moment. 

Luke understands: he does not have to fear Vader. He is a man beneath an army of breathing apparatuses and metalwork. He is probably in constant pain, and Luke would be a little angry under the circumstances too.

Luke banishes the cloak of darkness lingering on his skin like a fog. He unlocks his Light, and he sets it free.

Vader says slowly, “what you say is impossible. I will not allow you to corrupt me with such lies.”

Luke smiles. “Does the truth scare you?” He asks gently, as if tending to a wounded animal. “If you look into my Light, you will know that I am always honest.”

The Force shifts beneath the floating center dais, and Luke’s heart skips a beat. He hops backwards, balancing on the edge.

To Luke’s unending surprise, Darth Vader closes his hand into a fist.

Luke barely has time to form the word “no” before the Dark Side plucks him like a tooka doll from the edge and brings him closer to Vader. The Dark reels him in like a wounded animal, and Luke feels his airways closing as he gasps.

His teeth clench as his eyes struggle to remain open. He is inches from Vader, and more than anything, Luke wants to meet with the bodyguard at the bottom of the chambers.

Luke claws at the invisible arm choking him, and he struggles to grasp onto something solid and stable.

His vision blurs, and that’s when he feels it: the very fabric of the Force peeling back like a window curtain, a bending of the natural elements of gravity.

Luke brings one hand behind his back and splays out his fingers. A lightsaber hilt that isn’t his own falls into his hand, and he closes his fingers around it.

Luke shows Vader the double-sided blade and brings it to life. Blue and yellow crystals blaze on each side of his face.

Vader drops his hold on the Force, and Luke falls to the floor of the dais. He gasps to regain his breath. 

Luke stands with every ounce of strength in his body. The crystals burn with light in his palm, working for him despite the blade being someone else’s.

Vader backpedals in shock at the movement, and Luke uses it to his advantage. He spins around and hops onto the edge of the dais again.

Luke regards Vader again, collapsing the blade and stuffing it into his Senatorial robes.

He splays out his arms and falls backwards. He feels himself fading as the wind rushes his back, his throat burning from the internal wound surely blooming in his esophagus. 

Luke registers Ezra’s arms catching him, head lolling on Ezra’s chest, as he greets unconsciousness.

-

“-can’t stabilize his heartbeat!”

“Shit,” Ezra curses, “I’ll do it, then!”

A palm presses against Luke’s bare chest. Luke barely registers the warmth before the Force rocks him to sleep.

-

“Has His Highness been near any explosions recently?”

“Uh...yes,” Ezra replies worriedly. “Why?”

The unknown voice trickles in. “Luke has a bruised eardrum. Not enough to hinder his hearing in an obvious manner, but it is there nonetheless.”

Ezra’s voice quakes. “Wh-what does that mean?”

“In order to ensure the bruising does not worsen, he needs a hearing aid.”

“F-for how long?” Ezra asks reedily.

“Forever.”

-

“Mother of Mountains,” Breha gasps, “his throat!”

“Hush, Breha,” Bail murmurs. “He may be listening. We don’t want to prolong his waking by scaring him.”

“Oh,” Breha sniffles, “what possessed him to do such a thing as,” she hisses, “face Vader?!”

“I don’t know,” Bail says gravely, “but I will find out.”

-

“Oh, kid,” Evaan coos, “you’re going to be the death of us.”

“Evaan!” Wedge hisses. “That’s mean!”

“She’s right,” Winter says thickly, as if in the midst of crying. “He obviously has no regard for his own life.”

Wedge scoffs. “Some bedside manner would be nice.”

-

“Hey,” Ezra murmurs, “no changes today, I see.”

The mattress dips as Ezra sits.

“If you don’t do something soon, I’ll start to worry.”

Hesitant fingers brush back Luke’s bangs.

“Would it help to know that Auntie ‘Soka has gone on a revenge spree in your honor?” Ezra scoffs. “I tried to stop her,” he says bitterly, “but that’s ‘Soka for you. I’ve got Kanan with her, though, despite their differences.”

Luke wants to wake up, but he can’t. Something keeps him barred between wakefulness and sleep.

Ezra’s hand moves to the side of Luke’s face. He cups Luke’s cheek boldly, and Luke’s limbo prevents him from registering Ezra’s warm touch properly.

“You’re home,” Ezra soothes. “Don’t be afraid to open your eyes. You’re safe among your people.”

Luke wants to sob. His eyes are so heavy!

“Oh, Luke,” Ezra whispers, “I don’t know whether to praise you for your bravery or curse you for being so foolish.” His thumb caresses Luke’s jaw. “But none of that matters, if you don’t wake. I need to tell you a secret.”

Luke’s mind is plucked from his body, and he is transported elsewhere.

-

The image comes into focus as if he fell asleep for only a few moments. He sits on a solid weight, and he blinks.

Luke is in the middle of a swamp. The weight below him, he feels with his hands, is a log. The air smells of mildew and moss. He can taste the mist burning his nostrils. The fog sticks to his face, and he wants nothing more to dig his nails into his skin, scratching it away like sandpaper.

But he does nothing besides sit and look. Across from him is a short green creature with drooping ears in brown robes a size too big. The creature’s eyes are large and considerate, and three-pronged hands grasp the end of a messily-crafted wooden cane.

Luke asks hollowly, “am I dead?”

The creature laughs, and a part of Luke wants to be offended.

“No, no,” the wizened face says. The cane presses against the moss as he hops off the log. “Far from it. You are merely in a state of rest beyond meditative comprehension.”

“Uhhhh,” Luke gapes dumbly, “that sounds a lot like death.”

The creature’s eyes glisten with unvoiced mirth as he trudges across the space between them. He uses the Force to climb up the log and plop beside Luke.

“Are you Yoda?” Luke wonders aloud. “I thought you would be taller.”

Yoda hums. “That is my reputation.”

“And,” Luke’s brows furrow, “aren’t you supposed to speak backwards?”

“Yes,” Yoda says, “but not here.”

Luke frowns. “Okay...what does that mean?”

Yoda does not reply.

“Well,” Luke sighs, “is keeping me in a limbo your way of getting my attention?”

Yoda chortles. “What other way is there?”

Luke hums, observing a swamp a little ways north of their position. It is so murky that Luke asks, “are we on Dagobah, then? Your home since the Republic fell?”

“It is a projection of Dagobah onto your mind,” Yoda replies, “and my mind, as well.”

Luke purses his lips as he thinks. He has heard from Kanan that the Force often deals in the abstract. This is his first real-life example of such an occurrence.

“How may I answer your questions?” Luke poses to Yoda.

“Ah,” Yoda muses, “no one gets that answer correct. You are the first.”

Luke blinks in confusion, but does not voice it; he is being tested.

“Do you know why,” Yoda asks, “I banned attachment in the Jedi Code?”

Luke bobs his head. “I also know why it was a grievous mistake.”

“Grievous!” Yoda chortles. “Do you understand my logic?”

“Yes,” Luke says calmly, “but telling people not to do something will make them want to do it more. The rule has its honorable intentions, but it should have also considered proper consequences if such a rule was broken.”

“My!” Yoda exclaims. “You are so sure of yourself! Tell me: why did I ban love, in all of its forms?”

“Because love is unpredictable,” Luke replies, “it clouds the mind.”

“Indeed,” Yoda gestures to the mist, “and look how well that turned out! Still, love persists!” He swings his cane around, then brings it down. “Do you see my mistakes?”

Luke says nothing.

“You are the embodiment,” Yoda continues, “of everything I tried to stifle with my students. I took away their hearts, their ability and freedom to love, so that they may wield swords! And for that, my penance is Dagobah!”

Luke blinks at the fog over the swamp, the thick layers of it. If Dagobah is a reflection of the Force, as Yoda hints between the lines, it is quite an interesting limbo.

“I admit this to someone now,” Yoda says, “because I need you to be everything that no other Jedi can be: a guiding Light, a kind heart, and the one to snuff out the Dark.”

Luke twinges. “What about my sister?”

“Sister,” Yoda sounds out, “you know of her?”

“Yes,” Luke clips. “If it is my job to...to ‘snuff out the Dark,’ what is hers?”

“To do whatever you cannot,” Yoda says vaguely.

The small creature hops off the log, tapping his cane and facing Luke.

“I hardly need to test you to find your truth,” Yoda says, “you pass the trials. You may not want to be a Knight,” his eyes glitter, “but you did not want to be a prince, either.”

Luke regards him warily. Yoda speaks his truth and does not seem bothered by the fact that Luke is not the disciple he is looking for. Perhaps Yoda holds out hope for his sister.

“Go forth, Luke Organa Amidala Skywalker,” Yoda orders, “and awaken at last.”

Dagobah becomes a green-brown blur, and Yoda fades into the environment.

-

Luke finally, finally opens his eyes.

He is in his bedroom, the palace, the planet he has not been on since the Senate mess began. It has been too long!

His vision sharpens on two figures at the end of his bed, who halt their nonverbal conversation.

Breha beams and rushes to his side. “Oh, Luke,” she coos, “you’re awake.” She kisses his cheek, causing Luke’s nose to scrunch up. “Thank the Mother of Mountains.”

Bail fills up half of Luke’s vision, and he frowns. His father looks frail and older than a mere few months ago. Luke instantly blames himself for causing his parents to worry.

“Mom,” Luke says with considerable effort, “Dad.”

“Be careful speaking,” Breha instructs gently, combing back Luke’s bangs with her fingers, “your throat is still sore after the bacta treatments.”

Luke purses his lips and looks away from his parents. When he has no distractions, he hears a slight ringing in his ear.

His hand comes up to cup the ear, and he listens to it closely.

This injury can only be a result of the Coruscant bombing near the Senate building. Luke has no doubt it was Imperials trying to scare Rebel Senators into staying put, such as himself.

He was near a panoramic window when it happened. It shook, but did not shatter.

He supposes it wasn’t only the window that shook; it was Luke’s eardrum too. He was under so much stress and anxiety that he didn’t notice the ringing until he was in blessed silence, which is now.

He removes his hand away from his ear and refrains from whimpering in an echo of pain.

“Right here,” Bail offers a hearing aid in his palm, “put this in.”

Luke silently takes the device and curves it over the shell of his ear. There is a dial to turn it higher or lower. Bail is talking too softly, so he dials it higher.

“Is that better, honey?” Breha asks.

Luke nods slowly.

“You bruised your eardrum,” Bail says. “Do you know how?”

Luke nods, his only form of communication.

Breha recognizes the problem and brings out Luke’s personal datapad in his bedside drawer. She flicks it on and turns on a typing screen.

Luke sits up on the pillows and perches the screen on his stomach. He registers he is wearing pure white scrubs, open slightly at the chest, and his hair was cut an inch shorter due to the bacta treatments on his neck.

Luke types: ‘It was an explosion near the Senate building. The windows shook.’

Breha’s eyes glisten as she reads, and she places a hand over her mouth to stifle a wail.

Bail, just as disturbed, decides to sit on the opposite side of Luke’s bed, the left side taken up by Breha.

“Did anything else happen while you were on Coruscant?” Bail asks.

Luke types: ‘Besides watching executions?’

Breha cries now, and Luke offers an arm around her shoulders. She ducks her head into his neck and wets Luke’s scrubs.

Luke feels...detached from it all. He is sure his time to cry will come soon enough.

“Luke,” Bail grasps Luke’s free hand as he flicks off the datapad, “I’m so sorry. I was meant to protect you, but I’ve done a poor job of it.”

Luke shakes his head. “My decision,” he manages.

“Speaking of decisions,” Bail says, “why is Ezra torn between dejection and delirious happiness?”

Luke purses his lips to curb his reaction. His words to Ezra, his confession of love, before he faced Vader reverberated in his mind.

Apparently, his lack of reaction was enough for his father.

“I’ve known of Ezra’s...affection for you for quite a long time,” Bail reveals. “I had thought...but I was wrong.”

That Luke didn’t love him back? Please. Luke has always adored Ezra Bridger.

But Bail learning about Ezra’s feelings before Luke’s own...that’s interesting. Luke wonders what clued in Bail on Ezra’s side of the story.

“Honey,” Breha says softly, “we love you both, no matter what. Don’t let your father’s tone make you think otherwise.”

Bail’s mouth twinges into a frown. “Oh, I’m sorry if that sounded accusatory. We have no idea what happened on Coruscant, and we would like to know, whenever you’re both ready to tell us.”

Luke nods in understanding. He manages, “I don’t care about marrying a prince anymore.”

“We figured that,” Breha says with a smile. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t care if he’s,” Luke’s cheeks heat up at the thought of Ezra, “if he’s a concubine. I know well enough he won’t care about status.”

Bail is visibly worried about the prospect, but Breha sends him a dirty look. He nods in begrudging agreement.

Luke doesn’t want to cause more trouble for his father, but he has no choice.

Bail and Breha leave the room unprompted, allowing him more time to rest.

————

Ezra watches Luke heal from his wounds with awestruck wonder.

As the days and weeks pass, Luke never gives up. With the help of many visitors, Luke is bolstered to get better and return to the Rebellion despite the consequences.

Ahsoka returns from her mission with Kanan to ruthlessly attack Vader declaring she cracked his plasteel mask entirely in half. The first time she duelled against Vader, Ahsoka punched out his eye plate with the Force. Now, Vader is reportedly licking his wounds inside his Mustafar palace.

And Ezra pouted when he found out he missed Kanan and Hera finally admitting their feelings for each other to the group.

Ezra also missed the announcement of Shara’s pregnancy. Shara and Kes had been married for so long Ezra wondered if they would ever have children. He sends an encrypted message to Mon, despite the high risk, expressing his happiness on behalf of Shara and Kes.

Winter, Evaan, and Wedge were granted permission to stick around the palace, too. Mon deemed all Alderaan Rebels to be a security risk, so everyone took it as an extended vacation. Mon even sent over R2-D2 and C-3PO, the droids that Luke had rebuilt and left behind on base. As much as they pattered about and complained, Luke was glad to have his bickering droids back.

Bail and Breha, as well as the senior members of the palace staff, were overjoyed to have them all back for the first time since they were young children.

The only hindrance was that Ezra still had to go by Dante Organa. It is a false name he cannot shed, but he will keep it to remain close to Luke.

They have not spoken of the confession Luke whispered to Ezra before surrendering to Darth Vader. In the frantic worry that manifested as Ezra held an unconscious Luke in his arms and brought him to safety, Ezra had forgotten almost entirely of it. 

As Luke faced challenge after challenge and persevered, it became all Ezra thought about.

And yet, Ezra did not rush it. Luke would speak to him about it again very soon. Ezra cast his personal feelings aside. His duty as a bodyguard always came first. 

He did not dwell long on how he had failed his task on Coruscant; it was ultimately Luke’s decision, and not even Ezra’s iron will could pierce through Luke’s stubbornness.

Ezra put Luke’s recovery before his own emotions. Ezra helped wherever he could without overstepping or coddling or hindering Luke’s progress.

But it is on Luke’s mind. Ezra sees it in Luke’s eyes, feels the topic permeating his thoughts when he believes Ezra’s attention is directed elsewhere.

When Luke’s bruises are healed, and he is permitted to wander the palace aimlessly, he disappears from view for many hours. Ezra worries the entire day, but distracts himself by doing things he used to enjoy doing with Luke: pick out flower arrangements with Riza, help the kitchen staff with food, and read books in multiple languages in the library.

It hits Ezra, then, the one thing he is forgetting on his list.

He practically runs down the halls, settling for a speed walk after being chided by Luke’s well-meaning teachers and Bail’s strict palace guards.

He pushes open the double doors to the palace’s main chamber and hears piano music.

And there is Luke, clad in silvery-blue pajamas, hair half-falling out of a stubby bun, playing a classic piece that he used to play constantly as a seven-year-old boy. The massive windows let in swaths of sunlight, Luke as bright as a midsummer day.

Ezra hears the doors close behind him. This is the first time he has seen no guards in the room; it is cavernous without them.

Ezra advances with a smooth glide. The music notes ensnare him, but do not force his heartbeat to flutter nervously. His heartbeat is slow and steady, a calm thump-thumping. He walks forward, smiling, as the man before him promises to envelop him in warmth and safety. 

The keys halt their song, the unfinished melody echoing on the walls.

Luke turns, and smiles back. “Hi,” he says softly.

“Hi,” Ezra chimes, lips pulling back into a grin, “may I sit?”

“Yes,” Luke replies, batting his lashes, betraying shyness. “I have to...tell you a great many things.”

Ezra lowers himself onto the piano bench. “Oh?”

Luke’s smile falters. “It will...I’m not sure if you’ll care for me as much as you do after I tell you the truth. My family’s truth.”

“Family?” Ezra eyes Luke in puzzlement, thick brows pinching together.

“My real family,” Luke says, “my biological family.”

“You’ve...never spoken of it,” Ezra says, “I had assumed you didn’t know anything.”

“I didn’t,” Luke’s gaze casts down to his lap, hands clenching into fists, “not when we met, anyway. I didn’t want to know, I didn’t care to know, but the Force has other plans.”

“Okayyyyy,” Ezra draws out, “I don’t know how I could ever not care about you. So start when you’re ready.”

Luke gulps, and he inhales through his nose sharply. He blinks, and a shadow is cast over part of Luke’s face.

“Three revelations,” Luke begins. “First: my parents are Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala.”

Ezra’s posture straightens. “Wow! A Jedi and a Queen!” He beams. “You do come from royal stock after all!”

Luke blushes visibly at the veiled compliment. “The second revelation: I am not alone. I have a twin sister.”

“Really?!” Ezra practically jumps in his seat on the piano bench. “That’s so great! Do you know who she is? Where she is?”

Luke shakes his head with a frown. “The Force tells me we will meet, just not now.”

“Wow!” Ezra exclaims. “Something exciting to look forward to! I’m happy for you!”

There is a short silence. Luke’s frown only deepens. His head bows lower, and his fingers steeple together. He stares at his hands, clenching again.

“The third revelation,” Luke says hollowly, “Anakin Skywalker is Darth Vader.”

It dawns on Ezra slowly. All the while, Luke’s eyes fill with tears, and a single one trails down his cheek. Ezra watches its descent while his mind reels.

Darth Vader is the Dark Anakin Skywalker. Since Anakin was never found after the Jedi Purges, it is not impossible that he is alive, if being enslaved to the Dark Side is considered alive.

Darth Vader is merely a shell. After all, his name translates to ‘Dark Vessel.’ There is no other explanation for why-

“He hurt you,” Ezra murmurs, placing his hands over Luke’s, “he hurt you, and that’s all that matters to me.”

A second tear falls. Luke lifts his head to regard Ezra. He is in turmoil, eyes glistening with conflict.

The storm clears as Luke reads Ezra’s unwavering thoughts.

Luke blinks, and lets no more tears fall. His eyes become lakewater blue in seconds.

“If Vader was good once,” Luke says gently, “do you think he can be good again?”

Ezra shrugs. “Hard to say, really.”

“I think so,” Luke says wistfully. “I think what’s good can never truly be gone. Buried, but not extinguished entirely.”

“Of course you would believe that.” 

Ezra’s hands clench atop Luke’s, and Luke stares at them as if it is a mirage.

“It is one of the reasons why I love you,” Ezra murmurs.

Luke’s head snaps up, wide eyes fixating on Ezra’s face. For a moment, Ezra believes he is the most attractive man in the galaxy. There is no other reason this beautiful man would look at him as if he is the fortunate one.

“Oh,” Luke’s voice comes out small, as innocent as a child’s, as laid bare as a lark’s melody filling the silence, “I love you too, Ezra. Very much.”

“May I,” Ezra sounds too eager, but he continues, “please kiss you, Luke?”

Not Luke Organa; he associates that name with being a prince. Not Luke Amidala; he associates that name with being a Senator. Not Luke Skywalker; he associates that name with darkness.

Just ‘Luke.’

Luke glows at the distinction, as if the sunlight chose that moment to cast their rays on him. He scoots on the piano bench, clasping Ezra’s hand, and leans forward.

Ezra sees only Luke’s eyes and feels only his sweet-smelling breath as Luke murmurs, “not if I kiss you first.”

A laugh barely bubbles from Ezra’s throat when Luke’s soft lips brush his. Ezra’s eyes flutter shut as his mouth reacts, pursing to focus on Luke’s bottom lip. 

The kiss winds up uncoordinated and lasts only three seconds, but Ezra swears his heart somersaults.

Luke’s lips then press against the two dark brown scars marring Ezra’s cheekbone, lingering there for several beats. Ezra falls short of breath as his lashes flutter open, and Luke’s fond eyes dance in answer to him.

“We’ll get better at that,” Luke says.

Mirth overflows in Ezra’s chest, and he giggles.

“I have no doubt we will,” Ezra murmurs.


	13. Age 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke stares at the scribbled cracks in the ceiling throughout the night. It goes from pitch black to shadowy gray to sunlit. Dawn approaches and passes into early morning. 
> 
> And today is the day Luke is going to deliver the Death Star plans on his father’s ship, the Tantive IV.
> 
> The Force is telling him today will change everything. Whether it is positive or negative, Luke cannot say. He can only pray he is not caught.

Luke stares at the scribbled cracks in the ceiling throughout the night. It goes from pitch black to shadowy gray to sunlit. Dawn approaches and passes into early morning. 

And today is the day Luke is going to deliver the Death Star plans on his father’s ship, the Tantive IV.

The Force is telling him today will change everything. Whether it is positive or negative, Luke cannot say. He can only pray he is not caught.

The sheets rustle, and an arm tosses over his stomach. Luke feels the hearing aid press against his shirt, and he plucks it out of callused hands. He curves the device into his ear and dials it up. A body pulls itself close, and warm lips press against Luke’s cheek.

“Why are you awake?” Ezra mumbles, nuzzling Luke with his nose. “It’s still early.”

Luke exhales deeply through his nose. Ezra’s lashes brush his skin as they flutter open.

“Uh oh,” Ezra breathes, “the princely beast is thinking too much. What must I do to tame his affliction?”

Luke snorts out a laugh, he can’t help it.

Ezra hums and shifts again, lying entirely on top of Luke. His elbows hold him up, and Luke makes a noise at the adjustment.

Their noses brush, and their eyes meet.

“Does he need a kiss, perhaps?” Ezra murmurs.

Luke creates a drum beat on Ezra’s side to make him laugh. Luke takes the opportunity to tilt his head up and kiss Ezra, slow and deep, bubbling laughter vibrating between their mouths. Ezra quickly latches on and loses balance, crashing onto Luke’s body and giggling between kisses.

Their mirth leaves them a moment later, when Ezra regains his composure and lifts himself on his elbows again.

“I can sense how nervous you are about today,” Ezra says, “so stop it! I won’t allow it in my bed!”

“Your bed?” Luke’s brow quirks upwards. “This is clearly my bed.”

Ezra hums carelessly, pressing a kiss to Luke’s forehead. “Sure you don’t want me to come?”

“The Force tells me it is a path I must walk alone,” Luke pouts, “and if it weren’t, you would definitely be going.”

Ezra kisses away the pout. “Yoda made us both Knights. You can handle this, I know it.” He rolls over, allowing Luke to sit up in bed. “I’ll leave you to pick something pretty to wear.”

As Ezra leaves the bed, Luke throws the pillow at him. They laugh.

-

Luke leans on a pillar as his vision bends and blurs his surroundings. He is on the way to the Tantive IV, and can even register the shuttle being prepared in the distance.

His vision is taken from him, even while he is still standing and holding onto the pole. 

Luke sees the future: he says his farewells, enters the Tantive IV, watches Raymus fly, and witnesses Vader’s Star Destroyer board their vessel and take him as a prisoner.

Mother of Mountains, he has to work fast. He has to get those plans transferred!

Luke’s vision returns, and he registers Ezra’s bare arms holding him upright. Luke’s hands grasp at the solidness of Ezra’s sleeveless white shirt, gaze focusing on the japor snippet around Ezra’s neck, a gift from Shara.

“Darling?” Ezra’s eyes are dark and tinged with concern. “What happened?”

Luke forgets all the people walking to and fro in the Yavin base’s hangar bay. There are people waiting to bid Luke farewell, but he lets them hold their position near the Tantive IV. Gazes rest on them both from afar, squinting in puzzlement.

Their relationship was so new that not everyone was told yet. The couple had barely mastered the art of kissing! And now they are being separated!

Luke swallows thickly, moisture returning to his dry mouth. He stands on his own and tips his head up to regard Ezra.

“I’m walking into a trap,” he says softly.

Ezra winds his arms around Luke’s middle, keeping him close. His finger pads smooth across the white synthetic tunic Luke wears, paired with beige pants and a volley of flame lily pins securing small buns above Luke’s ears.

“May I see?” Ezra asks gently.

Luke bites his bottom lip nervously, eyes welling up slightly. He inhales sharply and nods in affirmation fiercely.

Ezra tips his head down, touching their foreheads together briefly. Their minds connect, and the vision replays between their strong link in the Force. Luke breathes slowly in Ezra’s embrace, waiting for the vision to complete in Ezra’s mind.

When Ezra leans his forehead away, his conflicted expression smooths out.

“Make a plan,” Ezra suggests calmly. “If you won’t let me protect you, then think. What can we do to get the plans to Mon across the galaxy?”

Luke breathes shakily, his mind working fast. “I…I…” He tears his eyes away from Ezra’s expectant and ridiculously handsome face.

The solution presents itself through the Force, and Luke smiles.

“The droids,” Luke directs his smile to Ezra, “we use the droids to jettison the plans!”

“There he is,” Ezra praises, “my beautiful genius!”

Luke’s everything burns, and he realizes Ezra’s arms have not left his sides. He is being reeled in like a love interest in a romance holo film! Ridiculous!

Luke cannot bring himself to protest, though, when Ezra leans down to kiss him gently. 

“Say whaaaaaat!” Wedge exclaims, so loud it echoes through the distance.

“Oh my wooooord,” Evaan screeches, “so cute!”

Luke chuckles as he steps away from Ezra. Arms are retracted from his middle, and Luke sends Ezra one final smile before approaching the farewell committee.

Wedge is bowled over on the floor, Evaan is frozen with her mouth agape, and Winter smirks amusedly. 

“Since when has this,” Winter points her finger to draw a line between Luke and Ezra, “been going on?”

“A little while,” Luke says breezily, Ezra standing aside to cover a blush.

He meets Ahsoka’s eyes, who regard him critically. “And here I thought,” she suddenly smiles, “you were the fool.”

Luke snorts and turns the other cheek. “The only fool here is Ezra.”

Ezra grins, his shyness dissipated. “Wow! From kiss to diss!”

Their onlookers laugh.

Luke nods to Raymus, who disappears into the Tantive IV. Luke turns back to get one long look at his friends and family. He does not know when he will see them again.

They catch Luke’s effortless smile fade, and the laughter stops.

Luke says over his shoulder, “stay safe, all of you, and do not despair. I will get the job done.” Despite his instinct, he adds, “see you soon.”

Winter and Wedge nod, as does Ahsoka. Ezra stands stiffly, not trusting himself to move.

It is Evaan that rushes up to the ramp and tosses her arms around Luke. He hugs her back, his heart and bones aching.

“You come back, you hear?” Evaan muffles into his shoulder.

Luke nods, and Evaan retreats as quickly as she appeared. She wipes a sentimental tear and returns to join the group. Winter holds her shoulder for comfort.

Luke ascends the ramp and doesn’t look back.

————

Ezra rocks Poe Dameron-Bey to sleep as Shara and Kes busy themselves in their room’s kitchenette. A stew pot steams, and smells emanate towards the small living space.

‘I would sing,’ Ezra said once when he came to visit the baby, ‘but I can’t hold a tune to save my life. Leave it to Luke.’

Poe was born three standard months earlier, the first Rebellion baby in all these years. As soon as Ezra and Luke were given clearance back into the Rebellion’s inner circle, Ezra rushed to meet a heavily-pregnant Shara and a happily-fattening Kes. The couple was overjoyed to see him, and he was one of the first to hold Poe after he was born. Shara and Kes declared Ezra an honorary older brother to Poe, and Ezra was so moved tears were shed.

In return, Shara and Kes are the first people Ezra confides in after beginning a relationship with Luke. They knew so little of the near-familial bonds between Luke and Ezra that Shara and Kes could view the matter without discrimination. Ezra understood it is strange for those closest to the budding couple to grasp their not-so-innocent feelings for each other.

Shara and Kes invited Luke over often, and he accepted as many times as possible. Luke was recently awarded the rank of Colonel, and the workload was dense. Ezra, as well, ascended to Commander faster than any other officer in the Rebellion’s history. 

While he is not the most disciplined man, he knows his ability to think quickly and learn from his mistakes is invaluable to Mon.

Luke, since he is loved by all who speak to him, is seen by Shara and Kes as Ezra’s perfect match. Luke’s ability to converse and relate to almost anyone is an incredible skill. Those who cross him, though, regret it quickly. Luke is the Flame Lily of Alderaan: a unique flower, but a glaring red warning of the fire that could scald whoever touches it.

Luke is also wonderful with children, especially baby Poe. Ezra is convinced Poe can sense the Light in Luke and clings to it as a result.

And the night Luke sang Poe to sleep was unforgettable. Poe was fussy the entire day, refusing to quiet for the exhausted Shara and Kes, even for Ezra. Luke simply plucked a crying Poe from Ezra’s arms and cradled him as if he had done it a hundred times before. Luke began to murmur an Alderaanian lullaby, and the wails stopped. Entirely stopped, as Poe eyed Luke and listened. Luke sings of Alderaan’s rivers and lakes, sings of the flower fields dotted around the capital city of Aldera, sings of the palace in all its splendor. Poe listens intently as Luke rocks him, and finally, finally succumbs to sleep.

This instance is all Shara and Kes need to be fully on their side as a couple. 

Ezra thinks his skills have improved, too. He can get Poe to sleep if Shara or Kes couldn’t. In fact, Poe was already drifting off to sleep, and Ezra kisses the thick black curls already sprouting from his copper-skinned head.

Ezra rises from the couch slowly and places Poe in a baby cot, separate from his crib in the master bedroom. He wraps Poe tightly in his blue blanket, adding in his own gray blanket as an extra cover of warmth.

Ezra doesn’t need his blanket anymore.

Kes nudges his head towards the kitchen. Ezra pads over as Shara ladles stew into three bowls. They specifically keep their tones low as Ezra joins the married couple at the table.

“How are you so good with Poe?” Shara scoffs teasingly. “You must be the true mother.”

“Don’t be silly,” Ezra shakes his head as he spoons broth, “at least Poe is not as fussy as Jacen.”

Jacen Jarrus-Syndulla was born shortly after Poe, within the same standard month. Since Shara’s pregnancy was longer than usual, and Twi’leks like Hera had short pregnancies, both women found themselves in the same situation at the same time. Shara and Hera are inseparable when they meet up, and Ezra is glad that the two pilots he regarded in such high esteem were best friends.

When Ezra visits baby Jacen on the Ghost, he finds the child to be...well...difficult. Nothing can stop Jacen’s wailing once he starts, not even a Force balm. The only people who can soothe him, to everyone’s surprise, are Hera, Zeb, or Luke. And sometimes not even Hera!

“Ezra,” Shara observes him with the keen eye of a mother, “I have a personal question to ask.”

“Okay,” Ezra chimes.

Kes sends Shara a look, but she studies Ezra carefully, as if she had a realization.

“The way you are with Poe and Jacen,” Shara says, “it goes beyond the Force, doesn’t it?”

Ezra blinks. “Why, yes,” he replies, “I have a biological instinct for it.”

He has long since become comfortable with the fact that he can bear children. He didn’t find out until he was sixteen, but as odd as it was for him in the beginning, he could not change himself. And Ezra knows, beyond a shred of doubt, whose children he would be honored to bear.

“Biological,” Kes blinks in shock, “oh, wow. I’ve never heard about that.”

Ezra admits, “I had a hard time finding a credible source for it myself.”

Shara frowns. “I suppose that’s the Empire’s fault.”

Ezra hums, then says nothing else of the subject.

The door chimes.

“I’ll get that,” Ezra offers, “you two eat.”

“Aw,” Shara smiles, “so sweet.”

Ezra pads over to the door and presses the controls. The door slides open, and Wedge is on the other side of it. He breathes as if he ran across the entire base, unkempt and wild.

Wedge says gravely, “the Tantive IV has been boarded. Thankfully, the plans and most of the crew, including my father, were jettisoned to safety in time.”

“But?” Ezra prompts.

Wedge’s eyes fill with water. “Vader has Luke.”

Ezra inhales sharply, clenches his fist, and nods slowly. He releases his fist, as well as his anger, into a Force receptacle.

His mind clears, and he says calmly, “tell me everything.”

————

Luke lays on a cold metal slab waiting for his death. Unlike anyone else in his position, he does not fear it. He has always known death would come for him early, especially with Darth Vader as a father.

A smoke beast in the Force curls around Luke, indicating his arrival. The door slides open harshly, and Luke peers up at his father.

Darth Vader could make any man in Luke’s situation curl up into a ball and weep and beg for mercy.

But Luke is no sane man; a sane man would never play games with a murderer. He sits on the slab and pushes away from it, standing before the looming figure with poise and fearlessness.

“This is your only chance to confess, child,” Vader hisses through the vocoder. “Where is the Rebel base?”

“That’s not what you really want to know,” Luke says airily, “you want to know where your children are, so ask.”

Vader raises a hand, but brings it back down. “I have scoured the galaxy,” he says laboriously, “and you lie!”

“The entire galaxy?” Luke squints his eyes as a challenge. “Did you really scour the entire galaxy? I do not believe you. Do you not sense them?”

Vader is quiet, save for a shaky exhale through his mask. He raises his hand again, motioning forward a spherical torture bot.

Luke snickers as it hovers with a needle of truth serum. “You do not need to use that,” Luke says smoothly, “I’m already telling you the truth. You can sense it in the Force.”

Vader clenches his hand into a fist, and the bot retreats.

“Fine,” Vader spits, “if you will be an unfaltering nuisance, my next visit will destroy your very soul.”

Luke bats his lashes lazily, and Vader slides the cell door closed with the Force. He hears the snap and flow of Vader’s cape as he walks away.

-

Vader is right, in the end. He is right.

Alderaan is reduced to dust before Luke’s very eyes. He falls to his knees when it happens. He stares for the longest moment of his life, wishing it weren’t real.

But Luke felt each and every death in the Force. He felt them all, rising like a crescendo and stopping short, fizzling until everything is nothing, nothing, nothing.

Luke’s voice is hollow in the silent observation chamber. “Oh, Lord Vader,” his eyes fill with water as he tears his attention away from the black hole in the galaxy, “oh,” every emotion battles for dominance all at once as he stares up at Vader, “you killed them.” 

Searing anger and bone-deep sadness give way to laughter, cruel laughter, spilling from his mouth in an unfeasible tide, so cold and empty that it is unreal that it comes from him, his heart, his soul, his aura, screaming and crying and wailing and burning red hot like an unrelenting firebrand.

“You killed them,” Luke says, rising to his feet and laughing while he cries, “you killed your children. You killed them both!”

“Liar,” Vader growls. “Take him away!”

Hands clamp hard on Luke, and he lets them drag him away. 

What is there to feel, when he is so empty?

-

Days pass, and Luke reconciles himself. He tears himself down while in a meditative state, picking apart his emotions and experiencing them all fully. He then packs each emotion away, tucking them into bed and singing them to sleep.

It is a lengthy process, and Luke only breaks to eat whatever trash the stormtroopers see fit to give him. He eats it gratefully, already feeling his body thinning from lack of nutrients. He looks at his reflection through the onyx marble walls, and finds his face sallow and sunken from poor treatment.

Vader has not seen him in all this time. What Luke said in his anger must have truly gotten to him.

Luke could not slip up in this way ever again. His parents may be gone, and everything he may have known destroyed, but it is no excuse for how wrathfully and recklessly he acted.

He refused to linger on thoughts of the remaining family left on the Yavin base. It is important that he remain strong in the belly of the beast.

Luke does not know how long he is imprisoned on the Death Star, but in the midst of a nap, he senses two unfamiliar Force sensitives.

It is not Ahsoka and Ezra; he registers their Light like the back of his own hand. And that means it can only be…

When Luke sent the message to Obi-Wan Kenobi, it was a shot in the dark. He expected nothing to come of it besides the plans passing on to someone else. He got the idea when the Tantive IV soared past a nondescript desert planet that made goosebumps rise on Luke’s arms. It was the Force telling him of Force sensitives!

And oh, that means Kenobi brought his sister!

Luke closes his eyes and focuses as the auras move. Kenobi’s is bright like a beacon, and his sister’s is blazing like fire.

His cheek is cold against the hard metal slab, and he falls into a meditative state while laying down.

He senses them separate, move, run. He senses Kenobi standing near the smoke monster, Vader, while his sister searches for him.

Soon enough, he hears blaster fire near his cell. 

He opens his eyes and lays on his side, waiting, waiting, waiting.

She is here, and the cell door opens.

It is a stormtrooper.

Luke furrows his brows and falters. “What do you want?”

The mask comes off in a swoop. A woman with tanned skin and almond brown eyes, a mass of hair braided over her shoulder, looks right at him.

“I’m Leia Skywalker,” she announces, “and I’m here to rescue you.”

————

Ezra’s door chimes approximately once per hour for several days. He opens it for no one.

The first day in solitude resulted in Ezra coming to terms with the holo he saw being completely and utterly real.

Ezra felt it, felt the Force alert him to a catastrophic death toll light years away. He ran to Mon, who showed him everything. A hologram sent by the Empire showing the use of their super weapon, the Death Star. Alderaan, in a single blast, is obliterated like it never existed.

Ezra spun around wordlessly and went to his room, locking himself inside. 

On the second day, after the news hits him, he cries like never before, lying in bed and soaking every piece of fabric with his unrelenting tears. He cannot bring himself to eat or move. Not even an inch.

On the third day, he meditates until his mind is so exhausted that he collapses into sleep. The Force feels the pain as keenly as he does, and as a terrible result, amplifies his emotions. Ezra let it happen, let himself feel everything as slowly and painfully as possible.

On the fourth day, Ezra is relieved when his mind clears, and the Force does too. He cries, but he feels every negative emotion leaking out of him as a healing method.

On the fifth day, Ezra thinks only of Luke. He uses the Force to visualize their bond, stretched achingly thin like an elastic band ready to snap. Ezra follows the line and exerts all of his energy to see what Luke does.

Luke is in a cell, meditating the empty hours away. Ezra makes to speak to him, but he finds he does not have the words.

Ezra retracts his inquiry and lays alone with his thoughts for the sixth day. He prays for Luke’s safety, and sobs upon realizing the Alderaanian gods he refers to are gone.

On the seventh day, Ahsoka uses the Force to override the door’s controls. 

Her eyes blaze as she enters with arms folded. “Have you had quite enough of your pity party?”

Ezra calmly cocks his head to the side. “Thank you for allowing me time,” he says coolly.

Ahsoka looks away guiltily. “Everyone’s been very worried about you. It’s been me holding them all back.”

Ezra frowns and rises from the bed he often shares with Luke. “I’m sorry. I just needed to be alone.”

Ahsoka nods in understanding. “It’s been hard for all of us to even...wrap our heads around, let alone mourn. Mon flew here yesterday rather than deliver the plans elsewhere.” She scoffs. “Don’t know why she didn’t do that first.”

The Force alerts Ezra to a shift, a familiar fiery warmth that was half-extinguished, and he drops onto the bed, eyes wide and gasping.

“Luke,” Ezra breathes.

“You sense him?” Ahsoka asks incredulously. “Where?”

“He’s here,” Ezra says, mouth curving into a smile for the first time in days. He stands and grins. “He’s back!”

Ahsoka follows Ezra every rushed step of the way to the hangar bay. Officers pass by in a blur as crowds swarm the hangar where the Millennium Falcon is docked.

Ezra has never been so elated to see a flying trash compactor in his life.

He curves past the gathering crowd, and a figure exits the starship.

Luke is wearing the same outfit he left in, and his clothes and face are dirty, but he is here. He is alive, and he is here, and he is safe.

Cheers erupt at the arrival of Luke, and he descends with an inscrutable expression. He meets the gazes of those he passes, ducking down until he finds Ezra.

Luke’s eyes flicker with a microscopic light of recognition, and he cannot bring himself to smile in relief. Instead, he heads right into Ezra’s open arms, hugging his sides. Luke sniffles and stifles a sob in his chest, burrowing into his solidness and familiar warmth.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” Ezra murmurs into Luke’s hair, voice cracking. “I’m so happy you’re safe.” 

Luke hears it despite the words filtering into his hearing aid, and he pulls back from the hug abruptly.

Luke tips his head up, eyes glistening, and says, “we’ll have time to mourn later. I have to get to work analyzing the plans.”

Ezra frowns concernedly but nods in assent; if these plans aren’t useful, then all of this was for nothing. He allows Luke to withdraw, hearing Artoo’s beeping as the astromech and Threepio trail after him.

“Hah! Kriff, kid!” Han Solo reaches a dejected Ezra with an arched brow. “Never thought I’d see you again. Hey, where’s the blind man?”

Ezra blinks, shifting from a trance-like state to glaring reality. “Not here yet,” he says hollowly.

Mon breaks through the dispersing crowd with a tight expression. “Ezra, go see to Luke while he works. That’s an order.”

Ezra smiles wanly; being given a task was a welcome comfort. “Thank you, ma’am.”

As he walks, Mon and Han discuss payment and he sees an unfamiliar woman getting suited up in pilot’s orange.

-

Luke’s strength terrifies Ezra, at times. Luke stands over the map table beside Mon as pilots take to the air, making their official run on the Death Star. Luke stands and speaks and watches with an air of formidableness that Ezra can’t quite shake.

Ezra wants to ask Luke so badly how he feels, but there are other issues on his mind. Has Luke had time to mourn properly?

“This is going to be a difficult shot,” Mon muses as she observes the map.

“My new recruit will prove useful,” Luke says.

“Ah, the woman,” Mon recalls, “is she a good pilot?”

“Of a sort.”

“Who is she?”

Luke does not look away from the holo map as he replies, “you’ll see.”

Ezra does something foolish; he nudges Luke in the Force to prod at him. Is the woman he glimpsed that important?

Luke nods imperceptibly in answer to Ezra’s question.

-

The Death Star is the second planet Ezra watches get destroyed through a holo. The command room erupts into cheers, but Luke and Ezra do not so much as smile.

As the pilots make their slow return to the Yavin base, Luke grasps Ezra’s hand wordlessly and guides him away from the madness. They do not speak until Luke shuts them inside their shared room.

Ezra plops on the unmade bed and blushes at the mess he created. He also hadn’t groomed himself all week, resulting in untamed long hair and stubble on his cheeks.

Luke studies the piles of clothes and unkempt furnishings. His voice comes out contemplative and gentle. “I see you didn’t take...everything very well.”

Ezra nods in affirmation and holds out his arms. “Come here, darling.”

Luke plops himself in Ezra’s lap, breathing into his form. They sit up in the middle of the bed, embracing so that Ezra’s hands rest on Luke’s sides. He made Luke the taller one, Luke’s head tipping down to regard Ezra.

“I pathetically secluded myself in this room for a week,” Ezra admits. “I smelled your clothes and laid with them like an idiot at one point. ‘Soka kicked down the door just in time for your arrival.” He shrugs. “Now it’s your turn.”

A ghost of a smile reaches Luke’s lips. “I was pathetically secluded in a cell, so our paths weren’t so different.”

Ezra reaches his hand out. He deftly unpins one of Luke’s side buns, watching the golden hair caress his cheek and tangle in a mass of flame lily pins. Luke’s smile is an echo of the splendor and brightness his happiness usually brought, but it is enough to give Ezra a glimmer of delight.

“From the beginning, then?” Luke prompts.

“Please?”

Luke shifts in his lap to circle his arms around Ezra’s neck. “Once we left base, I uploaded the plans to Artoo’s databanks. I soon sensed...Vader. I ordered Raymus and his men to jettison with the droids as we were boarded. Vader brought me to the Death Star. I refused to tell him any Rebel information.” 

Luke casts his gaze away, eyes glistening. He blinks and continues.

“Vader got angry with me. I...did something rash. Vader dragged me to a viewing room. Tarkin was there too.” Luke grimaces. “They all made me watch. They made me watch…”

Luke gulps and tilts his head down. Ezra aches and smooths back the shaggy bangs covering Luke’s forehead.

Luke inhales sharply and regains his composure with ineffable grace. “I said some more rash things. I had never been so...angry. Never.”

“You had a right to be,” Ezra murmurs. “What matters is you moved past it.”

Luke nods in assent. “Vader threw me in a cell with little food and water. I’m sure you noticed that I look a little…”

“Tired,” Ezra soothes. “Only tired.”

“Liar.”

“I’m being a sweetheart by not saying it.”

“Yes, thank you for not telling me I look like bantha shit.”

Ezra shakes his head, taking a breath to unpin Luke’s second bun; his golden hair falls in waves framing his face. 

“I wouldn’t put it so harshly,” Ezra says as Luke shakes out flame lily pins, plucking them out one-by-one.

Luke hums. “I soon sensed two auras in the Force, and I waited. I was saved by an angry Wookiee, a bumbling pirate, a Jedi who faced Vader and died valiantly, my two bickering droids with the Death Star plans,” he pauses humorously, on the edge of making a revelation, “and my kriffing sister.”

Ezra’s eyes widen as he gasps. “THAT WOMAN IS YOUR SISTER?!”

Luke smiles, finally smiles as if the sun were merely shaded by clouds.

“She just,” Ezra blinks incredulously, “she just destroyed the Death Star!”

“Mhm.”

“Damn,” Ezra grins, “that’s awesome.”

“Her name is Leia,” Luke says, his expression growing mild, “and I have no idea how to tell her she’s my sister without sounding like an insane person.”

“That is indeed a problem.”

“Yes,” Luke unclips the final flame lily pin, holding them all in one hand while the other plays with thick strands of Ezra’s hair, “I’ll need to...I don’t know...find proof.”

“I’m sure there’s a birth certificate somewhere,” Ezra says optimistically.

The door chimes. Ahsoka’s voice is loud enough to penetrate the durasteel. “Stop making out, kids! The pilots are coming back!”

Ezra sighs and raises his voice. “I wish we were making out, Auntie ‘Soka!”

Luke grabs at a section of Ezra’s hair as punishment for the remark.

“Ow,” Ezra says pointedly.

Luke murmurs, “how about you kiss me real quick?”

Ezra tips his head up and kisses Luke gently. It barely begins when it’s over, and duty calls for them.

After celebrations, after the medallion ceremony, after the base is quiet again, Luke and Ezra mourn.


	14. Age 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Darling,” Ezra clips, “breathe.”
> 
> Luke does not respond, gaze affixed to the bag as he zips it up.
> 
> “Don’t be afraid,” Ezra murmurs, “breathe.”
> 
> Luke smacks his hands onto the closed bag and sends Ezra a fiery look.
> 
> Ezra stares back, and Luke’s resolve collapses.
> 
> Luke exhales through his nose shakily and glances down. When he looks back up, there are tears in his eyes.
> 
> “It’s so hard,” Luke says thickly, “it’s so hard to be strong.”

“No,” Mon says instantly.

Ezra frowns as Luke pouts. “But why not?”

“I can’t afford to have both of you gone on a personal mission,” Mon replies. “You may go, Luke, but Ezra,” she looks at him, “needs to keep an eye on Han and Leia during their first smuggling run.”

Ezra nods in understanding, but Luke’s acceptance is a begrudging one.

“Ma’am,” Luke says tightly, spinning around and dismissing himself.

Ezra watches after him with a deepening frown. “Forgive him, ma’am. He’s-”

“I know,” Mon says gravely. “You may go.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ezra says, ducking his head and following Luke into the hallway. Luke does not stop as he winds his way through base to collect his things in their shared room.

The past weeks had been filled by funeral and memorial services in honor of Alderaan all across the galaxy. Mon treated it like a tour of the Rebellion, traveling to each planet where they exerted strong influence against the Empire. Luke had the most difficult job: giving speeches at each and every service. It weighed terribly on Luke, and not even Ezra could pierce through the cloak of detachment that hung over Luke’s aura.

Now that the services are finally behind them, Luke sought to find evidence of his true parentage. Leia still knew nothing of it, too absorbed in learning the ways of the Force, since she learned very little from Kenobi. Leia pestered the three Jedi in the Rebellion with her questions consistently.

But she never asked Luke. In fact, Ezra has a viable reason to believe Leia doesn’t suspect Luke’s mastery of the Force. Luke’s skill is unparalleled, and if Leia could not sense it, that meant her own teachings were rudimentary at best.

That left Ahsoka, Ezra, and Kanan to pacify Leia’s curiosity.

And Luke would never admit to it, but Ezra believes he finds Leia’s disinterest in him to be...not quite hurtful, as she didn’t mean to act that way...but perhaps disappointing.

Luke had too much to worry over, anyway. His responsibilities as a Colonel, being forced to mourn whilst trying to heal, concealing his Force sensitivity for his own safety as a still-public figure. If Ezra were Luke, he would have cracked a long time ago.

Ezra enters the room to find Luke shoving what few possessions they had left, namely clothing, into a duffel bag. Luke is a flurry in the Force, but Ezra steps right into his storm, kneeling on the opposite side of the bag.

“Darling,” Ezra clips, “breathe.”

Luke does not respond, gaze affixed to the bag as he zips it up.

“Don’t be afraid,” Ezra murmurs, “breathe.”

Luke smacks his hands onto the closed bag and sends Ezra a fiery look.

Ezra stares back, and Luke’s resolve collapses.

Luke exhales through his nose shakily and glances down. When he looks back up, there are tears in his eyes.

“It’s so hard,” Luke says thickly, “it’s so hard to be strong.”

“I know,” Ezra soothes, “I know, love.”

Luke’s breath catches as he observes Ezra’s eyes, and he drops his head. He begins to sob.

Ezra pushes the duffel bag away and sits close to Luke. He gathers Luke into his arms, and Luke moves into his lap. 

“I’m,” Luke sniffles into Ezra’s shoulder, “I’m so sorry. I’m so,” he hugs Ezra’s middle, “I’m so stupid. I wasn’t,” Luke turns his head to peer at Ezra’s scarred cheek, “thinking about you. I was being such a,” he shakes with tears, “such a self-absorbed, insensitive, woeful piece of bantha-”

“Stop,” Ezra says sharply, “stop that right now.”

Luke sniffles and pulls back, tears flowing freely down his tired pale face. 

“You are none of those things,” Ezra says, “not even on your worst days. And I’ve seen a lot of them these past weeks.”

Luke bows his head as his lips quiver.

“Even when you were suffering,” Ezra says softly, “you listened to every story you could about Alderaan. Every fond memory, every childhood story, every holiday someone spent there. You listened and had the perfect response to everyone mourning. You cast your emotions aside to make room for others, and you don’t have to do that anymore! Yes, you may have been distant, but it was to cope. I get it, okay? It’s what I’ve been doing too.”

“I still should have,” Luke hiccups as he wipes tears, “I still should have confided in you, like I always do.”

“Mistakes were made,” Ezra teases lightly, “but I promise you it’s okay. You can make it up to me.”

Luke snorts. “I should have known you would want something.”

Ezra puckers his lips, and Luke laughs at him. It is a welcome change from sobbing.

“You’re so ridiculous,” Luke says amusedly.

“Is that a no?” Ezra mumbles.

Luke cups Ezra’s face and tilts it up. Luke’s tears are entirely gone, and a blush tinges his lovely cheeks.

Ezra barely has time to smile before Luke is kissing his face gently. His chin, his jawline, the corner of his mouth, his scars, his wide nose, his thick brows, his forehead. The drawn-out action of each press of Luke’s mouth on Ezra’s face warms them both. Ezra feels something inside him mend, and Luke’s aura brightens.

Luke pulls back and slips off Ezra’s lap. “I should get going,” he says delicately.

Ezra nods in acquiescence; he cannot delay their forked paths any longer. “May the Force be with you.”

Luke rises to his feet with the duffel bag in hand. “And with you.”

He spins on his feet and leaves the room, Ezra beginning to pack his own bag.

-

“Huh,” Han’s brow arches, “didn’t expect you to be coming.”

Ezra ascends the Millennium Falcon ramp with a small bag over his shoulder. He sensed Luke leave in an X-wing, Artoo in the socket, less than an hour earlier.

“You know what that means?” Leia appears to send Han a pointed look. “He’s spying on us.”

Chewbacca yowls from inside the ship to leave Ezra alone. Due to Ezra’s passable understanding of Shyriiwook, he musters a smile.

“Thanks, Chewie,” Ezra chimes as he enters the starship. He finds Chewbacca running a final systems check. Han and Leia ascend the ramp behind him after performing an exterior check.

Ezra plops in the booth outside the cockpit while Leia and Han argue over who should fly. Leia smugly wins, to Chewbacca’s delight as copilot. Han slides into the booth and sulks beside Ezra with a frown.

Ezra decides to take a chance and have a little fun. He prompts, “you won’t woo her if fighting is your plan.”

Han bristles. His blue eyes widen in alarm. “What makes you think I want to do that?!”

Ezra smiles smugly; his assumption on Han’s feelings for Leia is proven correct. “I’m a magical wizard. Did you forget?”

Han scoffs and turns his gaze to the tabletop. “As if you know how to woo a Jedi.”

Ezra blinks twice. And he laughs.

Are Ezra and Luke really that good at hiding their relationship?

Ezra laughs and laughs at himself, carrying on even as Leia and Chewbacca take them into lightspeed.

Han starts to stare at him as if he had gone mad, and Ezra’s laughter gives way to quieter chuckles.

“Oh,” Ezra grins amusedly as his eyes glisten from unshed mirth at Han, “I think I do.”

“Huh?” Han gapes confusedly at him. “I don’t understand. The only Jedi we know are-”

“Nooo,” Ezra draws out with a two-tone chuckle, “you’re forgetting someone.”

Han furrows his brows. “Don’t think I am. Maybe you’ve finally lost it and you’re seeing things, kid.”

They really don’t know about Luke! Oh, how amusing!

“Seeing things?” Leia trailed into the room. “Is it Force stuff?” She advances eagerly, sitting in the booth, notably away from Han. “Can you tell me about it?”

“Not Force stuff,” Ezra sighs at the interruption.

“Who’s flying?!” Han exclaims worriedly.

“Chewie,” Leia answers happily.

Ezra cannot help but be reminded of Luke in the way the two syllables create a harmony in Leia’s voice.

Han exhales in relief, his tense body sinking beside Ezra. “Now what was it about a secret Force sensitive, Ezra?”

“WHAT?!” Leia lurches forward, bouncing with excitement usually reserved for children.

That’s what Leia was, to Ezra and Luke: a child untainted by the horrors of war.

“He’s not being particularly secret about it,” Ezra frowns, “he just doesn’t like to advertise it.” He winces. “I guess he really is being secretive about it, huh?”

“Who?” Leia’s eyes bug out of her head. “Who is it?”

“Why, Luke,” Ezra replies casually. “Who else would it be?”

“Luke,” Leia states. “Luke Organa.”

“That sweet little prince?” Han asks, equally in disbelief. “That can’t be. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Hah!” Ezra smirks. “He’s got you convinced!”

Leia reels back, completely thrown. “I’m sorry, I...I can’t wrap my head around that.”

“He’s just an innocent kid who got caught in the Empire’s crosshairs,” Han says hollowly, “that’s all.”

Ezra shakes his head. “Maybe one day you’ll get to see him in action. But for your sakes,” he snorts amusedly, “hopefully not. I wouldn’t want to taint your image of him.”

“You talk like he’s...like he’s…” Leia cannot find the words, and trails off. Her mouth shuts as the information sinks into her mind.

“Luke’s the strongest person I know,” Ezra says, “and certainly the most dangerous. But he does not use his power for maliciousness. He rarely uses the Force at all, in fact. He doesn’t need it; he’s formidable entirely on his own.”

Han winces. “You almost sound like you love him, kid.”

Ezra blinks incredulously. Do they not know this, either?

“Why, yes,” he says breezily, “I do.”

Leia bristles, eyes wide again. “You’re both together?! Like...together?!”

Han realizes what Ezra was trying to tell him earlier, but he does not verbalize it.

“Yeeeees,” Ezra draws out, “obviously.”

“Not obviously!” Leia furrows her brows, a sign of the frustration that would not let up, no matter who taught her. “Not obvious enough at all!”

Ezra shrugs, internally delighting at their lack of knowledge. “Pay more attention, then.” He directs his next words to Leia. “A Force user needs to pay the utmost attention to every detail.”

Leia blows out air through her mouth. “This is too much drama. I’m out.”

Han does not protest when Leia takes his seat in the cockpit. He simply trods along and switches places with Chewbacca.

-

The pay-off of the smugglers for foodstuffs happens without an issue. Han and Leia remain level-headed and calm, which Ezra thanks every god for small mercies.

It is after, when the cargo is loaded, that the vessel they were boarding receives an unforeseen guest.

Ezra senses the Dark leeching off of this shadow- man in the Force. Without alarming Leia and Han, Ezra says, “I’m going to check on something.”

He drifts with the shadow-man as his guide, slinking past personnel on the massive vessel. He enters the bay beside the Falcon’s own, and he peeks over a divider.

The ship is a Mandalorian-class shuttle, meant for no more than four crew members. The ramp extends, and the respectable pirate captain meets with a man clad in metal Mandalorian armor.

Unlike Sabine’s, the armor is meant to conceal everything besides the man’s intent; even his dark etchings indicate he is aligned with evil.

The Force roots him to the spot. Ezra catches sight of a shining metal cylinder on the armored man’s belt, and he gasps.

A lightsaber.

He claps a hand over his mouth, looking around; no one heard him make the sound. His hand drops back to his side, and his mind reels.

The Inquisitors are all dead. Ezra and Kanan made sure of that. The Brother died in that cave after Luke saved them; the Ghost crew doubled back and burned the body themselves. The Sister died when Ezra tricked her into backing off a cliff. He watched her fall and crash, her life leaving the Force. Those two were the last Inquisitors under Vader’s cruel teachings.

This Mandalorian is no Inquisitor, but he is possibly something worse.

Luke’s fearful words when they are teenagers trickle through Ezra’s mind: ‘I saw a Mandalorian line you up. Mom, Dad, ‘Soka, and you. He made you kneel before stormtroopers and ghosted you with his blade. It was pitch black, with white veins around the edges.’

There is only one way to find out what the Mandalorian’s lightsaber looks like…but now is not the time.

-

Ezra expects that close encounter to be the end of it. He truly does. But as they leave, their eyes meet.

And the Mandalorian follows them in his shuttle as the Falcon leaves the smuggling vessel.

Oh, by the Force. Ezra had to think fast.

What would the love of his life do? 

Luke would leap out of the Falcon to keep everyone else safe, the sacrificial idiot. Luke would take the man down on his own shuttle and crash on an uninhabitable moon, the reckless fool. Luke would rebuild the shuttle and fly his own way back to base, the resourceful genius. 

Luke would return with little scrapes and a cocky smile. Luke would take Ezra’s face in his hands and kiss him until Ezra cannot remember his own name. And Ezra would let him.

Ezra could do that, but well…

Actually, he’s going to do it. Yes. He’s going to do it.

Ezra secures his double-sided lightsaber so it rests against the small of his back. It stays in place due to his utility belt and cargo pants, the metal twinkling against his loose orange shirt. He ties his raven hair into a bun, allowing thick strands to frame his cheeks.

He pokes his head into the cockpit and says, “we’re being followed by a Darksider. I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry about me.”

Leia swivels in her chair behind Han. “I wanna come!”

“No.”

“Yes!” Leia shoots up in her chair.

“Leia,” Ezra says forcefully, “I can’t let my love’s tw-”

His eyes widen at what he was about to say. He is glad he catches himself. 

The pause, though, is pregnant enough to catch everyone’s attention.

Ezra’s eyes fortify with steel, as does his voice. “I know this is hard to hear, Leia, but you would only delay us if you jumped into the fray. Please get back to base intact. You’re important.”

Leia slowly drops back into her seat. Her eyes blaze with the same fire he is used to seeing in Luke.

“And you’re not important?” Leia poses sharply.

Ezra knows he is important, but he cannot bring himself to say just how important Leia was, as is Luke.

Ezra says nothing and turns his cheek. He walks to the platform and opens it, the wind rushing at him. 

He jumps.

-

“My friend knows you,” the Mandalorian sneers through the vocoder.

Both are successfully marooned on a desert planet, but Ezra senses life southwards.

The Mandalorian tosses him onto the sand dunes, and he ignites the lightsaber. It is pitch black, white veins bleeding from the edges into the blade.

He raises it as Ezra scrambles to his feet and backs away from a swipe.

“Is he familiar to you?” The Mandalorian says to the blade. Ezra grimaces at how creepy it looks.

He bends and twists against each blade arc directed towards him. He quickly becomes accustomed to his surroundings and backs up a sand dune.

Ezra grabs the blade from the back of his shirt and ignites both sides. Blue and yellow kyber crystals blaze in the orange sunlight.

“He is familiar,” the Mandalorian whispers through the vocoder. “The Dark knows his name. Knows he is an enemy.”

The armored man advances up the sand dune, struggling with heavy metal plates. 

“He smites the Dark,” the Mandalorian growls. “He is an agent of the Light that must be extinguished.”

“Aw,” Ezra smiles crookedly, “thank you.”

Ezra pushes off the dune with the Force and leaps. His lightsabers are forced down on the Dark blade, causing the shadow-man to lose his balance. His heavy boots sink into the dune like quicksand.

Ezra backflips in midair, landing smoothly on his feet while the Mandalorian crashes into the sand. Ezra crouches slightly to predict his descent down the massive sand dune. His oneness with his environment gives him enough of an advantage.

The shadow-man leaps up and tries to attack. Ezra jumps back in time, missing the following swipe at his ankles. 

The Mandalorian struggles to rise with sand in his armor, weighing him down considerably. As a result, the man tosses off his helmet, which plods uselessly down the dune.

The man is old and fierce, with harsh gray eyes and a shaved head.

“Hi,” Ezra chimes casually, “what’s your name?”

The man scowls, his entire expression shadowing and contorting to match the motion.

“I’ll start,” Ezra twirls his lightsaber between three of his fingers, as he used to with his guard staff, causing two blazing crystals to swoop protectively over his body, “I’m Ezra Bridger, Jedi Knight. And you are?”

“Pre Vizsla,” the Mandalorian spits, “of the Death Watch.”

Ezra hums. “I’ve been told of your presence in Clone Wars history. I’d have thought you’d be dead.”

“And this blade,” Pre Vizsla growls, “has been told of you!”

He advances quickly, making several maneuvers to try and break Ezra’s defenses. Ezra parries every spat of lightsabers with a precise flick of the wrist. The man gets frustrated and hits with his entire body backing the blade’s offensive attacks. 

It is the blade that keeps him alive, Ezra realizes. It is the living Darkness inside that kyber crystal keeping a dead man alive.

The solution, then, is simple.

As they reach level ground atop the sand dune, Ezra uses the Force to sway gravity to his will.

The Mandalorian freezes in time.

Ezra uses his yellow blade to slice the Darksaber perfectly in half.

Time comes back to itself all at once, and Pre Vizsla collapses onto the sand. The halved metal hilt sparks and dies.

Pre Vizsla fades before Ezra’s eyes, sands shifting as the Mandalorian is brought into the Light.

Ezra breathes deeply, collapsing his lightsaber, crouching to examine the Darksaber. The crystal is useless, black as night, but he cannot leave it there.

Ezra uses the Force to lift the pieces of crystal and dump them into his pants pocket. They are a shroud over him, but he takes shelter in the sunlight.

He splays out an arm, the Force sinking the hilt into the sand dune, to be forgotten forever.

Ezra descends the sand dune and walks into the civilization he sensed upon crashing. He throws the shards of kyber crystal into an incinerator and watches them burn to ash.

Afterwards, he gets Pre Vizsla’s shuttle working.

————

Luke does not make it to his charted destination. He barely makes it to the next star system before his X-wing is tailed.

He knows there is no way to avoid them. He recognizes the auras from years ago: Bossk and Aurra Sing.

How fun.

The starship behind him opens fire.

Luke could out-maneuver them, certainly. He could make those blaster charges as useless as pebbles. 

But that wouldn’t fix the problem of being hunted.

Luke lets a blaster charge knock out his upper left wing, and he controls the descent onto a small moon as best as he can. 

He uses the Force to keep his X-wing intact. He quickly determined the charge is minor enough to get the systems functioning fully in a few short hours.

Luke lands the X-wing atop a canyon, sensing no life forms for miles. The Force is a bouy keeping his starship afloat on the uneven terrain.

“Artoo,” Luke says to the frantic astromech, “I need you to play dead, like the charge hit you. I’ll be back for you and the ship soon enough.”

Artoo’s binary is so rapid that Luke struggles to pick out the words. If it weren’t for his fascination with odd languages, he wouldn’t be able to discern a single beep at all.

“I will be back,” Luke sighs, “you just have to be patient and act harmless.”

Artoo boops are followed by a worried whirr. Despite what Artoo makes Luke think, the sassy astromech adores him and acts as a concerned parent would.

Since Luke has a lack of concerned parents, the fretting is actually welcomed.

Luke retracts the thick glass plates covering the X-wing cockpit. He removes his helmet and pops open a panel containing his twin lightsabers underneath the wheel.

He hears the hum of an engine, and Luke puts on a performance.

Luke throws himself out of the X-wing and lies on his stomach, feigning hurt as he cries on command. He cloaks his lightsabers using the Force.

A second starship engine follows the first, and Luke realizes it: this was the trap all along.

But still, he acts as a whiny boy would, and cries like a child while he curls up on the canyon ridge.

After moments laying like this, a blaster rifle cocks near his bruised ear. It is so close that it dials up the hearing aid, so he could hear the full blast of Aurra Sing’s laughter.

“Look at this pathetic little boy,” she says as Bossk chortles beside her, “so sad and lonely. Useless without protection!”

Luke peers through his blurry vision, and begs, “please don’t take me. No no no no no! Please!”

Aurra turns to regard a third person: a tall droid.

“Knock him out, IG-88,” she clips.

Her cruel smirk is the final image Luke sees before the butt of a blaster knocks him unconscious.

-

Luke awakes tied to a chair in a completely bare room. He is alone, which is the same mistake they made last time. 

No guards? Hah!

Luke may not be able to sense the droid bounty hunter, one of three in the building, but he still has his lightsabers cloaked in the Force. He can bring them out if he cannot find an opening.

Bossk enters the room, and Luke fake cries again.

The Trandoshan laughs, speaking in his reptilian language, which Luke can translate. “He’s still at it!”

“Aw,” Aurra coos in Basic, sticking her head in the room, “poor baby.”

“How’s it feel to lose, Prince of Nothing?” Bossk sneers.

Ouch.

“A very special Dark Lord is paying so many credits for you that we thought it was a typing error!” Aurra laughs. “But we assured him you were an easy catch!”

Darth Vader is looking for him. He’s working with bounty hunters.

Oh no.

Luke sniffles to mask his surprise.

“The man himself is on his way,” Bossk says gleefully.

“So we’ll leave our colleague to watch you,” Aurra says.

IG-88 enters the room and stands perfectly still, a bright red eye fixed on Luke. Bossk and Aurra close the door behind them.

Luke cries silently, ducking his head so he could think.

The bounty hunters had wizened up. Damn. He needs to find a way to catch the droid off guard. And he needs to find it fast.

Luke cannot count on human error. But he cannot outsmart a droid, a literal walking computer, without a distinct advantage.

How does he paralyze a droid?

Ah...paralysis…a shock...a spark. 

Artoo.

Luke pretends to sniffle and cry. He hides his expression in his orange jumpsuit.

He shuts his eyes and prods the Force. His mind travels and travels, dozens of miles to where his X-wing still rests on a canyon.

The image paints itself, imprints on the back of Luke’s eyelids. 

He commands a breeze to ghost Artoo’s dome. His mind speaks the astromech’s name in a low whisper, carried by the wind.

Artoo blinks to life, making a whirring sound.

The binary words bring Luke courage: ‘I am coming.’

-

Night must fall, though Luke cannot tell. Aurra and Bossk had not reappeared for hours. IG-88 stood there and kept watch like a silent stone.

Luke keeps his head low. He doesn’t like the way the droid’s red eye stares at him unflinchingly.

Darth Vader will come for him by daybreak. If Luke is his top priority, Vader is flying to this planet with immense speed.

It must be black as pitch when Luke hears a spark outside the door. He picks his head up and waits, staring right at IG-88.

“What do you want, Prince?” The droid says mechanically.

Luke had long since stopped crying. He simply played the passive boy while he loosened his ties.

“We’ve never met,” Luke says softly. “I know the other two, but who are you?”

“You heard them,” the droid says. “I am IG-88.”

“I’ve never seen a droid programmed as a bounty hunter before,” Luke says measuredly.

“Times change quickly, Prince,” IG-88 echoes.

Luke hums as a small buzzsaw slips through the doorway and slices open the locks.

“Yes,” Luke agrees, rising smoothly from his chair and throwing the ties on the floor, “times do change quickly.”

Artoo flies into the room as the door opens, armed with the many sharp knives Luke built into his systems. IG-88 opens fire on Luke, and he uses the Force to slow the rifle blasts. He smoothly falls to a crouch as the bolts whizz past his head and scorch the wall behind him.

Artoo has enough time to charge his taser and send a volt of electricity right through IG-88. It skirts up his leg and travels through every crevice in the droid’s systems. The electricity sparks as IG-88 falls to his knees, dropping the blaster rifle.

IG-88, with a loud thunk, shuts down and clangs face-down against the floor.

Luke smiles as Artoo beeps excitedly at him. “Good work, bud.”

Artoo wheels over as his knives retreat into his body. He boops as Luke rubs his dome head.

“Where are the other two?” Luke inquires.

‘Sleeping like rocks,’ Artoo says in binary.

Luke snorts at the mental image. “Good. We need to make it back to the ship. Did you see any bugs or trackers?”

Artoo replies, ‘they are amateurs.’

Luke hums and rises to his feet. “Did you fix the engine?”

Artoo beeps in the affirmative.

“Thank you,” Luke sighs in relief. He uses the Force to bend gravity, plucking his two lightsaber hilts from the invisibility cloak. He clips them to his jumpsuit utility belt. “Let’s get moving.”

-

Day breaks as Luke makes it up the canyon. His X-wing is untouched, and he double checks for trackers. There are none, and Luke chooses not to question the stroke of luck.

No matter what Ahsoka or Kanan say to the contrary, Luke believes that luck exists.

Artoo is loaded onto the X-wing as Luke hops into the cockpit. He keeps his lightsabers secured to the curve of his hips in case there are any more surprises.

Luke takes a fleeting moment to observe the sun rise over the horizon of this world, this world he does not recall the name of but can thank for his speedy getaway. The orange sunlight blazes across the reddish pink canyon rocks, creating flames that Luke wades through.

He smiles at the sunrise’s warmth, and flicks on the X-wing systems. As he secures his helmet, outfitted with a thick blast shield and a decal of lightsabers forming an X beside the Rebellion emblem, he asks, “are we ready, Artoo?”

The astromech beeps in the affirmative.

The thick glass cage around the cockpit secures, and the engines roar. The X-wing thrums all around him like a beast, like the landspeeders he raced on Alderaan.

This is the first time Luke thinks about Alderaan without wanting to cry…

Luke lifts the X-wing into the air, using the canyon as a launching pad. He eases the wheel slowly forward, then slams the gas pedal.

He soars in the span of a breath, Artoo beeping excitedly at the speed.

Luke rises above the sun, above the clouds, above the blue sky itself.

As he leaves the planet’s final ring of orbit, that’s when the blackness of space itself bends and reshapes itself.

A Star Destroyer so large it shadows half of the moon rises into Luke’s view.

He gapes openly, eyes bugging out of his head.

“Vader,” Luke curses, “shit!”

Artoo shakes in his socket.

Luke flicks the lightspeed switch. “Get ready for the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

Artoo says in binary, ‘let us pray.’

Luke cannot muster a quip about astromechs being unable to grasp the concept of prayer.

A vortex emerges before Luke, and therefore very close to the Star Destroyer itself. The narrowing tunnel of starry blackness would pass directly parallel to Vader’s massive ship.

There is no time to redirect the course. Luke has to go now.

The stars expand and stretch into thin lines, the fabric of space itself creating a cone to allow him passage.

His hand grips the lever and pushes it forward as hard as he can. The X-wing lurches and flies forward so fast Luke swears the ship will fall apart.

Luke grits his teeth as his skin nearly rips off his skull. Artoo’s exclamations are lost to lightspeed.

At the edge of the cone, a bleeding tear rips through.

Luke glances to his left, and he sees it: the interior of the Star Destroyer, lowered rectangular pits where officers clad in black yell at holo screens, a raised platform made for only one man, a panoramic window where the vast expanse of space can be seen, Darth Vader himself standing there, a lone figure, a shadow amongst the gloom, his plasteel mask cocking to the side, staring at him, right at Luke, acknowledging his escape with a dazed stare, then lingers as his vocoder growls, starting low and rising higher and higher as Luke recklessly winks in his own form of acknowledgement, hears the growl become a yell that shakes the Star Destroyer worse than an earthquake, a yell that resounds in the Force and assaults Luke’s ears from all sides, reverberating and bending and nearly shattering his hearing aid, a yell that enunciates each syllable with a heaping helping of distaste and disbelief and seeping leaks of fury.

“OR-GAN-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!”

The end of the cone is reached, and Luke barely has time to smirk before he is gone, entering the vortex of calm pulsating hyperspace.

He cannot be followed here, and he exhales for the first time in ages.

-

Luke’s landing on base receives no fanfare. He senses a nearby disturbance and exits the X-wing. Artoo is released from his socket and wheels after him concernedly.

When he knows who is at the center of the commotion, Luke walks a little faster towards the crowd.

“You can’t sit here forever,” Mon says bitingly.

“Sure I can,” Ezra says breezily.

“Where did you get that ship?” Mon demands.

“I’ll tell you,” Ezra replies stubbornly, “after I speak with Luke.”

Luke halts at the sight of an unfamiliar Mandalorian-class shuttle. It is painted almost entirely in black, when starships of that type are meant to be colorful. No wonder everyone seeks answers.

Luke’s heart cannot help but skip, though, at the fact that Ezra waits for him, so he can know privileged information before anyone else.

“-breaking protocol by-”

“Let him break it,” a female voice says.

The crowd falls into silence as Leia squares up to Mon. She is so fierce that Luke swears he is looking at a holo of himself delivering speeches.

“Leia,” Mon says dangerously.

“He’s clearly been through some shit,” Leia bursts. “Shouldn’t he, I don’t know, work that out for a minute and confide in his boyfriend?”

Luke blinks. Ezra must have let that information slip, not that Luke minded.

A lot of people gathered, though, didn’t seem to know of their relationship either. Luke could have argued it was none of their business, but he was a public figure; they should know who their young and spirited leader loves.

Luke pushes through the crowd, and they part for him. Leia and Mon gape at his sudden arrival. Ezra smiles over at him with softening eyes.

“Scatter,” Luke says.

It is not forceful in tone. It is not an order. But the crowd disperses quickly. Mon leaves the shuttle uncertainly, Leia’s gaze tearing away from Luke’s twin lightsabers with considerable effort.

Luke had forgotten he was wearing them…

When only Ezra remains, Artoo having wheeled away in search of Threepio, Luke says, “get inside, now.”

Ezra’s smile falls, and he shuffles into the shuttle. He leads them into the cockpit, shutting the blast door. Ezra takes the copilot’s chair silently while Luke takes the command seat.

They swivel in ninety-degree angles to face each other, and away from the panoramic view of the hangar bay.

“Explain what could have possibly gone wrong in a simple pay-off,” Luke says tiredly.

Ezra ducks his head a little, slouching like a reprimanded child. “Do you remember,” he asks hesitantly, “the Mandalorian with the Darksaber you saw in the cave?”

Luke’s innards grow cold. “Yes…”

“His name was Pre Vizsla,” Ezra says, “and he was being kept way past his expiration date by the Darksaber’s power. He tailed us on the way back. I crashed us on a desert planet and fought him.”

Luke winces.

“I slayed your monster,” Ezra says measuredly, a glint in his eye, “by splitting his Darksaber in half and scattering the crystal shards in an incinerator. I fixed his shuttle and flew back in it.” He stares pointedly at Luke. “You’re not the only one that had a bad day.”

Luke frowns, guilt festering. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t speak to you like that.”

“Oh,” Ezra teases, “I quite liked it. You were very,” his eyes glitter and his voice deepens, “demanding.”

Luke inhales sharply and smacks Ezra in the chest. Ezra laughs.

“Never say that again,” Luke says scathingly, flopping back into his own chair.

Ezra winks. “Now tell me,” Ezra wonders, “who got on your bad side?”

Luke’s mouth twinges downwards. “I don’t like ruining moments.”

Ezra hums considerately, then proceeds to plop into Luke’s lap. Luke makes a noise to adjust, causing Ezra to smirk.

Ezra winds his arms atop Luke’s shoulders. His hands climb Luke’s hair and untie his messy bun. The tie flips over Ezra’s wrist as his fingers play with golden strands.

“Now you’re not ruining a moment,” Ezra mumbles. “Tell me.”

Luke sighs; Ezra never lets up on a topic, never allows avoidances. It is why Luke loves him so.

“Before I could get close to my destination,” Luke says, “I was tailed by Bossk and Aurra Sing.”

Ezra’s lips curl back in a snarl.

“I let them shoot me down,” Luke recalls, “and take me. They have a new friend: a cyborg called IG-88. I had Artoo play dead to help me with him later.”

Ezra’s unblinking eyes fix on him, and he hardly breathes. He continues to smooth out Luke’s hair, but the movements are tense.

Luke recounts, “I woke up in a makeshift cell, of course. Bossk and Aurra came to gloat, so I pretended to cry and beg for my life. They made IG-88 watch me the entire time. I used the Force to summon Artoo, and he came at nightfall. Artoo electrocuted IG-88 and shut him down. I set myself free and we returned to my ship, which wasn’t bugged. On our way out of the atmosphere…”

Luke stops.

“What?” Ezra exhales.

“I saw Vader’s Star Destroyer.”

“Shit,” Ezra’s breath catches, “oh, kriffing shit.”

“The bounty hunters were working with Vader,” Luke says hollowly.

Ezra winces.

“I jumped to lightspeed. He saw me,” Luke’s lip quivers, “Vader saw me, and I saw him. He...he yelled. He yelled after me, but it was too late. I was gone. And now I’m home.”

Ezra blinks. “Your story is better than mine.”

“More scary, you mean?”

“To me, yeah,” Ezra’s brows furrow, “but you seem to be largely unfazed.”

“I’m still processing, I guess,” Luke mumbles.

Ezra hums in understanding. “Ready to tell Mon? I sense she’s steaming with anger.”

Luke snorts in amusement. “We mustn’t keep our impatient leader waiting.”

Ezra kisses Luke’s forehead and stands, allowing Luke to rise from the chair. 

They join hands and face Mon. Together.


	15. Age 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The transmission comes in on a newly-issued datapad Mon gave Leia as a Captain. It is early, but Leia wakes early, anyway. She sits up in a purple undershirt and sweatpants, grabbing the datapad from her nightstand.
> 
> The message is a cache of information from Luke. A folder containing images and documents and audio recordings. She cycles them in order after a prompt comes up.
> 
> The image is a family birth certificate. On top, the parents are listed: Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Naberrie-Amidala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will be on weekends from now on; there’s a lot of online college work to do.
> 
> But *winks* here’s a gift.

Leia Skywalker has had an outlandish journey since joining the Rebellion. For her entire life on Tatooine, she thought she would never amount to anything. She was destined to be a moisture farmer, her skills for piloting forgotten. It was what her aunt and uncle wanted.

But Ben Kenobi swept her off on an adventure. He died before he could teach her much about her abilities, but in a way, it was what he wanted: to introduce her to a new life after she had lost everything.

Leia has met interesting beings since she joined the Rebellion. A slew of Jedi, Force sensitives just like her, were waiting to be found like a treasure trove hidden deep in the unknown.

Ahsoka Tano fascinates her the most, as the only female Jedi left. The Togruta fought from one war to the next, even subduing Vader in battle. Leia went to her often to train, since she had the most free time. Ahsoka taught her temperance. Ahsoka taught her how to levitate objects with her mind. Ahsoka taught her how to shield and find other Force sensitives by concentrating and controlling her impulses.

Leia was still getting there with the ‘controlling impulses’ thing, but she was trying her best.

Kanan Jarrus was the most bizarre Jedi she had ever met. It was not that he was blind and could tap into the Force like no one else, but that Kanan spoke of abstracts and visions of the future. It was difficult for Leia to comprehend, but Kanan’s interest in helping her was appreciated.

Now, Ezra...Ezra was a peculiar Jedi. He omitted things without meaning to, often had multiple tasks on his mind at once, and got easily disgruntled if she asked one too many questions.

The complexities of Ezra Bridger, though, became clearer when he revealed his relationship to Luke Organa. 

Luke Organa, secretly the most powerful Force sensitive in the galaxy. Ezra had said it himself, and he never lies.

What could be misconstrued as ‘omitting things without meaning to’ is actually a result of Ezra’s bodyguard training and being beaten with formal protocol. What could be misconstrued as ‘having multiple tasks on his mind at once’ was Ezra viewing the same problem from several angles and finding a suitable strategic solution. What could be misconstrued as ‘getting easily disgruntled when asking too many questions’ is Ezra’s innate need to protect people from information that might hurt them.

Leia has been keeping an eye on Ezra, as well as how he acts around Luke.

As in, Ezra acts completely different around Luke! Ezra is shy, subdued, submissive! Leia lost count of all the blushes Ezra wore when Luke off-handedly complimented his work.

And that prompted Leia to ask him, and Ezra told her more than what she bargained for.

‘I am Lothalian,’ Ezra says quietly, ‘I have the traits of both the feminine and the masculine.’

So, that was something.

Leia also befriended a fair number of fellow pilots: Wedge, Shara, Hera, Evaan, Han, Chewie, and even Luke.

When she learned Luke was Force sensitive, she realized she was pestering the Jedi far too much. It was about time she had real conversations with these people. Leia could see how she was an annoyance.

So Leia began by approaching Luke and talking to him about Tatooine, about the aunt and uncle she lost, about the moisture farm that was scorched by stormtroopers, about Ben and what she learned from him, about the importance of the Rebellion to her.

And Luke, it turns out, Leia has more in common with than anyone else. Luke was so kind and delicate when he answered her, speaking of his own experiences with hardship. Leia had forgotten about Alderaan, and she was horrible for that, but she did her best to listen. She can honestly say, now, that she can talk to Luke about anything. There was a layer of comfort between them that was inexplicable.

So that’s why, when Leia receives a transmission from Luke one morning telling her the truth, she is not as surprised as she would have liked to be.

The transmission comes in on a newly-issued datapad Mon gave Leia as a Captain. It is early, but Leia wakes early, anyway. She sits up in a purple undershirt and sweatpants, grabbing the datapad from her nightstand.

The message is a cache of information from Luke. A folder containing images and documents and audio recordings. She cycles them in order after a prompt comes up.

The image is a family birth certificate. On top, the parents are listed: Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Naberrie-Amidala.

Gasping, Leia looks down.

Not just one child is on the certificate. There are two.

Twins.

And their names: Luke and Leia Amidala-Skywalker.

Luke was born first, two minutes before Leia. He was adopted by Bail and Breha Organa, King and Queen of Alderaan. While she got Beru and Owen Lars.

Two witnesses to the galaxy-altering proceedings signed below their names: for Luke, Mon Mothma; for Leia, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Somehow, some way, for some reason, Leia does not find herself shocked by this information. It is as if, upon speaking with Luke and feeling at ease beside him, that Leia has known for quite a while.

The second is an audio file, one recorded by Luke himself.

“Hi,” he says nervously, “um...are you okay? I hope you are.”

Leia barks out a laugh; no matter what the circumstance, he is extremely endearing.

“I don’t know how you must be feeling,” Luke says warily. “I’ve known, since I joined the Rebellion, that I had a sister out there. I just didn’t know it would be you.”

Leia falls silent, eyes widening. How did Luke know way before her?

She could throttle Ben’s ghost right about now.

“I sensed you from the moment we met on the Death Star,” Luke recounts. “I wish we had met under better circumstances. They certainly threw me for a loop.”

The audio recording picks up Luke shifting on a couch.

“This is weird,” Luke exhales. “This is weird to find out like this, I know. I didn’t know how to tell you in person. So I collected information, in the hopes that...oh, I don’t know. Don’t feel obligated. I’m sorry for keeping this from you for so long. I hope you understand.”

Leia thinks she does. Leia knows she can be quite...intimidating. She needs irrefutable proof before she believes anything.

“I was told by my adoptive father, Bail Organa, as well as Mon and Ahsoka, what they knew about our parents,” Luke explains. “It wasn’t something I asked for, but I am glad to know it now. I have found physical evidence that matches everything they have told me. You have it all, now. Again, you don’t have to look at it right away. I would understand if, even, you never look at any of it. But,” Luke pauses, “if you are as curious as me, I hope this information brings you some form of clarity. Perhaps peace, like it did for me.”

Leia feels her eyes well up with tears. Oh, she was so stupid.

“There is a warning to go along with this,” Luke says, “if you follow through to the end, you will learn more than you ever expected. And when you find out the...revelation that I experienced myself...I encourage you to seek out Ahsoka.”

The audio clip ends, and Leia feels uncertainty creep up on her. She sniffles and blinks away moisture, staring at the compilation of files.

She toys with the idea of closing out the folder and never opening it again. Luke’s final words made her wrestle herself.

But curiosity...Luke, her brother, her lovely twin brother, was right about her curiosity.

Leia rifles through news holos: a Nubian Queen named Padmé Naberrie is coronated at fourteen, a slave boy named Anakin Skywalker wins his freedom in the Boonta Eve Classic, a Nubian civil war is averted by a young Queen and a little boy, a Jedi Master is slain by a Darksider, Obi-Wan Kenobi takes Anakin under his wing at a Jedi Council meeting, Kenobi and Skywalker become famous for saving people across the galaxy, Padmé Amidala ascends to Senator and delivers intricate and fiery speeches, assassination attempts on Padmé are averted by two Jedi, the Clone Wars begins on Geonosis, Padmé advocates for pacifism while Anakin becomes a war hero, and the Purges result in Padmé dead and Anakin missing.

After Leia cries during her mother’s funeral holo, only one file remains.

It is a flipbook of comparisons. The articles Leia read through highlight passages and phrases. Beside each one, an unknown article highlights similar wording.

Leia peers closer and finds the difference: the left side was for Anakin, and the right side is vague Imperial articles glorifying Darth Vader.

Okay...what is she missing?

The bottom comparison highlights two headlines. The first: ‘Skywalker Missing in Purges.’ The second: ‘Darth Vader Rises.’

Oh.

Oh.

“Oh,” Leia breathes.

Leia numbly clicks off her datapad, leaving it on her unmade bed. She hops out of bed and digs through her closet. She tosses off her undershirt and replaces it with a beige shirt and matching vest, Rebel red insignia on the breast pocket. She kicks off her sweatpants and jumps into brown leggings. She pops her socks inside tan boots and laces them up to her lower legs, stopping at her knees. She shakes out her hair and brushes out knots speedily, piling a section atop her head, the rest spilling down in a curtain over her upper back.

Leia exits her room and walks with purpose. She must look fierce, because officers jump in their skins as she passes.

She knocks hard on a durasteel door. “Ahsoka!”

The door slides open, and Ahsoka regards her lazily. She wears her usual maroon ensemble, curving around her body in such a way to make certain beings stare when she glides past them in the hallways.

Leia purses her lips and enters without asking. Ahsoka steps back and allows it, the door closing behind her.

Leia, who is level with her height, says with blazing eyes, “tell me everything you know about my parents.”

Ahsoka studies her carefully, forcing Leia to exercise her patience and temper her steel.

“I see it now,” Ahsoka breathes, “when Luke told me...well, I had my doubts.” Her eyes flicker with something unreadable. “But I see it: the same fire Luke has. The fire your mother and father had before you.”

Leia exhales, and everything sinks in. Ahsoka watches it happen and says nothing.

Leia ducks away, feeling slightly foolish. She is trying to learn not to be so hasty and hot-headed, but it’s harder than it seems.

Nevertheless, Leia says softly, “please help me understand.”

Ahsoka nods in assent.

————

Luke metamorphisizes when he awakens.

He does not feel the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders. His heart is not being pressed upon by an anvil. His arms are not tied behind his back, forced to make decisions and formulate quick solutions to problems no one can foresee.

He is light here, a flower petal delicately perched atop a lake. He soars, shaking out his wings. The breeze on his face is not an indication of danger, just freedom.

He never wants this to end. He never wants to go back. He never wants to go back to his cage of responsibility.

Luke likes helping people, that is true, but he isn’t so fond of the leading part. They say he is good at it, but that is only his training.

Everything that people like about him is a lie. It is a series of carefully-constructed ruses designed to hide his abilities from Darksider tyrants.

There is only one being who truly sees Luke. Not Luke Organa, the fallen prince, the Rebellion’s leader, the Jedi Knight. Just Luke.

And that being got everything last night.

The paradise planet they were on was a gift from Mon. Despite being a Senator in exile from the Empire, she exerts immense influence with the Rebellion. She owns land and housing on multiple planets, which she rarely uses.

When Luke was awarded the rank of General, Mon gave him the keys to this remote house with a pointed stare. She nods over to Ezra, who was celebrating his promotion as Colonel.

Luke masks a blush and nods discreetly.

And so here they were: completely alone for three days, no one for leagues on this gorgeous gemstone of a paradise planet.

Luke may be taking too much advantage of the accommodations already, but he can’t bring himself to care. In all of their time together as a couple, they had never been alone, just the two of them. They slept in the same bed, shared the same room, kissed each other good morning and good night, but nothing compared to last night, the realization that they were together and alone and could finally, finally become one.

Sunlight blasts through the flowing sheer curtains, the pastel furniture and wallpaper gladly allowing golden rays to highlight the bedroom. 

Luke lays on his side, securing his hearing aid, drinking his fill of Ezra.

If he had a flimsi, he would write poetry about beholding a naked Ezra Bridger in the early morning light. He would remark, first, on the shifting shades of Ezra’s skin: its olive shade when muted, its bronzeness at midday, its brownness when baked in intense sunlight, its tanned quality in the darkness, its copper shade when Ezra rests peacefully.

There were magnificent statues at the palace gates the same shade of copper…

Luke would direct his syntax, next, to the angular curve of Ezra’s jaw, the lines of his cheekbones, the shape of his wide nose. The facial structure of a warrior, but one that does not strike unless provoked.

Luke would form couplets on the thickness of Ezra’s brows, the slope of his lashes, the crescent shape of his eyes.

And he would write an entire page on the beauty of Ezra’s eyes when they opened. He would list every shade that Ezra’s dark blue irises turned, and the emotion attached to each of them.

Celestial, when Ezra meditates calmly. Electric, when his temper gets the better of him. 

Sapphire, for Ezra’s desire. A new shade Luke learned last night, in the midst of passion.

And so on, the shades would go.

Several quatrains would be dedicated, then, to the curvature of Ezra’s lips. How they changed based upon the circumstances: how they upturn on one side when Ezra is playful, how they form an oval when he sighs in pleasure, how they swell when Luke kisses them too much.

There would be a lament for Ezra’s scars, too brown and jagged below his eye. But he would follow up with a tercet on how the scar seems to fade when light hits it at a certain angle.

Luke had not even gotten to Ezra’s hair! Perhaps a separate sonnet dedicated to his hair: how the raven shade gave way to cerulean in the moonlight, its thick smoothness when Luke’s fingers combed through tangled strands, the various states that the shoulder-length mane looks best in, a special honorary quatrain in dedication to the swoop Luke feels in his stomach every time he unties Ezra’s bun while nipping at his bottom lip, the delight in Ezra’s breathy chuckle.

And oh, his body and his voice! His mind and his words! There was too much for a poet to write about!

Before Luke can muse further, Ezra’s lashes flutter. His lips press together, and a soft deep exhale falls from Ezra’s nose.

“Hasn’t anyone taught you staring is rude?” Ezra asks, deep voice evening out with each syllable.

Luke observes Ezra’s lashes as they stay stagnant. All that moves are Ezra’s lips, his chin, his jawline.

Luke does not answer. His words have left him.

A golden light blazes across Ezra’s exposed skin, emboldening him into something regal.

Ezra finally opens his eyes, stretching under the thin white sheets and curling on his side. Despite the shadow, the sunlight persists, snaking across Ezra’s shoulders and curving over his hips.

Ezra squints. “Uh...hello? Luke?”

Luke blinks, realizing he was holding his breath. The exhale comes out labored and shaky.

This only worries Ezra more, brows pinching together. “Luke? Are you alright?”

Luke clamps his mouth shut. Since his words fail him, he leads with his actions.

His warm hands frame Ezra’s face, and he brings his body forward. Luke eases Ezra’s mouth open, which follows with the motions pliantly.

Luke shuts his eyes and rolls them over. It begins with the hooking of his leg over Ezra’s lower back. The heel of his foot presses gently at the base of Ezra’s spine. Luke uses the leverage to curl himself closer, the sheets airing away from them. They are skin to skin as Luke breathes into Ezra’s mouth, resting atop his body.

Luke caresses Ezra’s face, fingers trembling as their kisses deepen, plunging them both underwater.

The sun sets them alight, and the Force curls intimately around them. It is intoxicating, the combination of everything at once, the friction and the bed and their lips and their touches and their hearts bared like floodgates.

The franticness, the need for Luke to tell Ezra with his body just how beautiful Ezra is to him, soon slows, an upbeat song slowing for the third verse. Luke nips at Ezra’s mouth, followed by an aching drag, and Ezra moans in response. 

Their fire cools into sizzling embers, and Luke allows Ezra time to breathe with a final peck. Luke withdraws, balancing on elbows while his fingers comb through Ezra’s hair.

Luke’s lashes flutter, and Ezra peers up at him lazily.

“Uhhhh,” Ezra flushes, “hi. You look pretty.”

Luke coyly shifts, scooting a little lower under the sheets. He rests his chin directly over Ezra’s slowing heartbeat, studying Ezra’s face.

Ezra peers down from the fluffed pillow, eyes squinted slightly due to the sunlight. His brows furrow at Luke’s continued silence.

Luke rests his torso on Ezra’s stomach. His arms linger around Ezra’s sides, hands diving lower to trace Ezra’s hips. Ezra squirms in response, but does not swat Luke’s hands away. Instead, Ezra’s arms come up to trace fingertips across Luke’s back, a tad unsure.

Luke does not break eye contact as he finally finds his words. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Ezra halts, stiffens his movements. He stares unblinking at Luke.

Luke stares back.

For a very long moment. 

Ezra’s blush deepens, then he looks away. He says with a stab of embarrassment and affection, “I’m not sure how to...respond to that.”

“Good,” Luke says decisively, “accept it.”

Ezra blinks several times, defining the curve of his lashes, looking back at Luke. “Thanks?”

Luke smiles. “No need to thank me for a statement.”

Ezra worries his lip and hums hesitantly. “So last night was...um…good for you too?”

Luke bites his lip on one side to stifle an amused chuckle. “Yes. Looks better on you, though.”

Ezra’s aura steams with the force of his blushes. “I...um...you never speak to me this way.”

“Because we haven’t had the privilege,” Luke says pointedly, bringing his body back up so his head curls into Ezra’s collarbone as it tips towards Ezra’s mouth, “of being so blissfully alone before.”

Ezra smirks, finally coming back to his teasing confident self. “You’re right. We’ve never had the opportunity to...explore each other.” Ezra’s fingers climb up Luke’s spine, and he giggles in place of a shiver. “Good morning,” Ezra breathes against Luke’s jaw, “my heart.”

The Force harmonizes around them, and Luke grins. “Good morning,” Luke murmurs, “my sweet.”

Ezra’s chuckle is swallowed by Luke’s lips.

————

Ezra lays on his back while partially submerged in lake water, eyes closed as he basks in the sunlight.

The glass door slides open from the house, his ear perking towards the sound.

It is a hobby of Ezra’s to observe Luke with his eyes closed, focusing entirely on his aura in the Force. Luke’s brightness is enough to rival the sun’s above Ezra.

“Ezra,” Luke says fondly, “I made us dinner, come on.”

Ezra opens his eyes, narrowing them to catch a glimpse of Luke’s golden face. Luke is clad in a placket shirt that’s practically sheer, a Nubian-style floral robe that flutters around his body as he walks, and tight leggings that enhance every curve.

Ezra complies and rises from the lake in waterproof boxers, swiping his wet hair away from his face. He doesn’t miss how Luke stares as he towels himself dry.

“I could have made it,” Ezra says lightly. “I haven’t had practice cooking in a while.”

He sets the towels near a dock pole and picks up an airy white shirt, pulling it over his head.

“I’ve barely had practice at all,” Luke says, “and besides, I enjoy cooking.”

Ezra smooths out his shirt and frowns. He could have sworn he left a hair tie right-

“Here,” Luke advances with a giggle, “I’ll do it for you.”

Ezra’s breath catches as Luke’s warm body stands behind him. He stills, and Luke gathers Ezra’s hair in his hands.

He’s so gentle…

Luke secures the tie, Ezra palming the tidy bun at the back of his head.

Ezra hums, detracting from a blush. “Thank you, darling.”

Luke steps away, his warmth remaining. “Now come on, the food’s already cooling.”

Ezra curls his hand around Luke’s and allows Luke to guide him inside the house. He closes the sliding door, stepping into the kitchen.

The circular dining table was lit with a candle and their food lay beside spiced wine glasses.

Luke retracts his hand and ushers Ezra into a seat. Ezra blushes and complies, Luke lowering himself onto his own chair.

Ezra murmurs, “am I being...romanced?”

Luke says noncommittally, “mayyyybe.”

Ezra’s insides burn. The candlelight enhances the tanning pallor to Luke’s freckled skin across the table, and he is rarely so emotionally compromised as he is today.

He is going to ruin the moment, though. His mind has been wandering to the future, and he just might have to say something because-

“You’ve been here and there all day,” Luke says with a concerned downturn of the mouth. As they begin eating, he asks, “what’s on your mind?”

Ezra glances away at the food and hates himself a little for making Luke worry when he shouldn’t have to.

“Um,” Ezra starts, “I was just thinking about...us. Our future.”

Luke studies him silently. His mood is neutral, almost suspiciously neutral. It is a taboo subject, so Ezra understands.

“I guess I...wanted to know your feelings on, um, certain topics,” Ezra hesitates, “but it’s silly.”

Luke nudges their legs together under the table. “Nothing you say is silly,” he assures Ezra.

“Okay...um...I wanted to know your opinions on commitment.”

“Marriage and children, you mean?” Luke clarifies.

“Right,” Ezra says, ducking his head to fight off embarrassment.

He really doesn’t like ruining moments, but his mind gets in the way sometimes.

“Well,” Luke replies, “the concept of marriage has been tarnished in my mind. While I understand it can be romantic, I cannot shake from my mind its...negative uses. Such as the case of using marriage as a...political tool, as it was used on me.”

Ezra nods; he still avoids thinking about that courtship ball thrown in Luke’s honor. “Right. Okay.”

Luke’s eyes flicker over at Ezra. Their gazes meet.

“As for children,” Luke says, “you know how I adore Jacen and Poe. But for us, I would rather wait until we find some semblance of safety.”

Ezra nearly remarks on how easy it is for Luke to verbalize his emotions, and how unafraid he is of voicing opinions.

“Makes sense,” Ezra says weakly, absently eating more food before it gets cold.

“You don’t like my answers,” Luke observes, frowning deeply.

“I...wish I could change your mind about marriage,” Ezra admits.

He hesitates, then remembers the splurges of information he studied on Lothal’s history that he found in the Temple. There is something about unions, the most romantic of unions, that had stuck in his mind for years. While it may not be the best time to bring it up, he blurts it out before he regrets it: 

“On Lothal, an official marriage is recognized by both people losing their virginity to each other.”

Ezra clamps his mouth shut and looks away. A sliced and glazed pooja fruit is suddenly the most interesting thing to him.

There is a poignant silence, and Ezra stuffs his face to ignore it. Why is he like this?!

The Force bends, and the fruit floats. 

Ezra keeps his gaze on it as it rises to his eye level. It floats across the table, right into Luke’s waiting hand. His fingers close around the fruit in his palm, and he rests it beside his plate.

Luke smiles brightly. “If you had told me this morning, I could have called you ‘husband’ all day!”

The implications hit Ezra hard, and his eyes well up.

“You,” Ezra’s lips wobble, a smile shining through, “you want to be my husband?”

“Well, we’re married now,” Luke says casually. “We’re already husbands.”

Ezra inhales sharply, blinking away rising tears. “Y-Yeah. Guess we are, h-huh?”

“Oh,” Luke placates in amusement, “don’t cry. We’ve only been married a day. I refuse for you to be upset so soon.”

Ezra laughs wetly. “I’m not. I’m not upset. I’m...I’m overjoyed.”

Luke sends him a playful look and rises from his seat. He rounds the table in a single bound and places a kiss to the top of Ezra’s head.

“I love you,” Luke murmurs.

Ezra curls into Luke the slightest bit. “I love you too.”

————

Leia sits on an empty crate at the hangar bay. Several starships would be landing there today, arriving to help move bases to a planet so cold she is convinced her veins will freeze.

The Millennium Falcon docks around sunset, a Wookiee and a pirate exiting the starship. Chewie growls a greeting to Leia as Han, the idiot, sidles up to her.

“Hi, sand brat,” Han teases.

Leia shoots him a mock-offended look. “Hi, trash pirate.”

“Ouch,” Han clutches his chest, “that hurts.”

Leia snorts. “Did you pay Jabba or not?”

“It’s done. My debts are settled.”

“Good for you.”

Han’s blue-eyed gaze looks right at her, lingering as it often does. Whatever words he is searching for is lost to the air, and he makes an excuse to check in with Mon.

The Ghost docks moments later, half of Leia’s acquaintances spilling out at once. Shara and her husband, Kes, appear clutching each of Poe’s hands between them, the toddler giggling. Sabine and Zeb appear, the Lasat carrying toddler Jacen while Hera guides Kanan down the ramp.

Leia smiles and waves. “Hi, everyone!”

She receives a couple “hey’s” and waves. They mostly file past her, with Kanan halting in front of her, Hera holding his arm.

“No Ezra yet?” Kanan asks.

“No,” Leia replies, “they’re supposed to be here soon.”

“Good,” Kanan says, “it’s been too long since we’ve all been together.”

Leia is unsure what he means, but she hums. She smiles at Hera as she guides Kanan to join the others.

The bay doors open, and the group halts a little ways from Leia’s crate. They all wait together as Mon’s personal shuttle docks.

“Mon parted with her shuttle?” Sabine mutters confusedly.

“Weird,” Zeb grumbles in agreement.

Leia senses Luke and Ezra inside the starship when she concentrates. She practices using her heightened senses whenever possible.

The ramp soon retracts, and Ezra is mobbed. She barely registers the image of him sporting a trail of buns behind his head and an easy smile.

Ezra laughs at the gathering as he descends the ramp. “Hi! What a nice surprise.”

“Ezzieeeee!” Jacen makes grabby hands whilst in Zeb’s arms.

“Hey,” Ezra beams at the boy, “hey, bud.”

Zeb allows Ezra to hold Jacen once he is grounded, the toddler hugging Ezra around the neck.

“LUKE!” Poe exclaims loudly.

Leia watches Luke float down the ramp with the lightness of a cloud, wearing a blue-white ensemble with his golden hair braided back into a coil. 

Poe drags Shara and Kes towards the platform. Luke kneels before the boy and beams.

“Does this mean I’m the favorite?” Luke asks Poe gently.

Poe smiles toothily and hops. “YES!”

“Ooooh, wow,” Luke hugs Poe, “thank you for the honor.”

Poe laughs and wiggles away from Luke.

He looks up and to the side. Luke sees Leia.

Luke’s mouth twinges and he rises smoothly. He fixes untamed strands in Poe’s wild hair and promises, “I’ll see you later, alright? I have to talk to Leia now.”

Poe says a quiet but disappointed “okay” as Luke becomes subdued. He regards Leia uncertainly, then walks towards her. 

Leia makes for the hanger entrance. He follows through multiple hallways until they reach her room. No one makes to stop them.

Leia keys open her door, Luke crisscrossing precariously on her gray-cushioned bed bench.

The door closes, and Leia matches Luke’s sitting position on the end of her mattress.

When they settle, looking at one another, Luke asks, “do you hate me for...doing what I did?”

“No! Why would I?”

Luke glances downwards; she has never seen him so unsure before.

“I...don’t want you to feel obligated to...do anything about this,” Luke says hesitantly. “We can carry on like nothing’s changed.”

“You don’t want that,” Leia points out, “and neither do I.”

“What should we do, then?”

Leia shrugs. “Considering our father’s a fucking fascist, we don’t have much choice. We can’t tell just anyone. We have to be careful.”

“He wasn’t always a ‘fucking fascist’.”

“You think Darth Vader can be saved?”

“I...I don’t know,” Luke sighs, “I don’t think the idea should be discounted entirely, though.”

Leia hums in consideration. “Well, I’ve only seen him once. You’ve seen him everywhere throughout your life, haven’t you?”

Luke nods in assent.

“Then tell me this: has he ever made you think he is worth saving?”

Luke exhales out of his mouth in a deep breath. “Honestly? Vader is so unpredictable that it’s hard to tell his mood.”

“So that’s an impasse for now,” Leia concludes. “As for who we should tell about us...any ideas?”

Luke says, “Mon and Ahsoka know already. Ezra knows. Everyone else who knew is,” he winces, “gone.”

“Ezra?”

Luke observes her shyly. “I can’t hide anything from him. Never been able to.”

“Okay,” Leia submits, “we keep a lid on it.”

“That’s the best option.”

“Now,” Leia pauses, “can you teach me how you braid your hair like that?”

Luke’s answering smile is brighter than a summer day on Tatooine. “Sure.”


	16. Age 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra squeezes Luke’s hand and says hollowly, “I see him. Look to the east.”
> 
> Luke spares another look out of the viewport.
> 
> And there is Vader, who burst a hole through several feet of thick ice. His arms are out, palms splaying to halt the Falcon from flying away. 
> 
> Snowtroopers gather around the starship and point pulse blasters at them, but they are harmless insects compared to Vader.
> 
> “I’ll go,” Luke says gravely.
> 
> “No,” Ezra growls.
> 
> “Then, what?” Luke asks, at a loss. “He won’t let us go if I’m here.”
> 
> “You’re stronger than him,” Ezra emphasizes. “I know you are. You can do this from inside.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to ESB, my dudes.
> 
> This chapter is a bit choppy at parts, but I decided to update my Tumblr: @toomanyfandoms99-ao3

The Hoth base shakes, and Luke is utterly in crisis.

His years and years of meditation training cannot calm his pounding heart. He senses a shadow beast he has not gotten close to since his daring escape in his X-wing. 

Sometimes, Luke has a recurring nightmare of that moment. He is in the cockpit, looking through the conical distortion in space and time. He sees his father staring back from the panoramic window of his Star Destroyer.

He hears him yell Luke’s false surname, crackling in his hearing aid, the tone fading out in a blink as his X-wing collapses into the folds of stars, entering the vortex in hyperspace.

Now, Darth Vader was coming to Hoth. And Luke had to transfer whatever information he could out of this base and into Mon’s data ether, untethered to physical hard drives.

As the Rebel base quakes, Luke runs past unsteady ice walls and personnel. He is clad in multiple layers of cream-colored clothing: an undershirt, a thick turtleneck, a bubble vest, and a fur-lined parka. Luke had never been gladder of growing his hair out, as it provided extra warmth when braided into a crown around his head.

Luke enters the control room, which is only occupied by Mon and Ezra.

“-can’t get every disk transferred in time,” Ezra says hurriedly.

“Not if you have help,” Luke chimes, immediately rushing to Mon’s side.

Ezra sends him a concerned glance, but Mon’s voice carries over any remark Ezra could make.

“Get going on the final computer,” Mon says, pointing to the middle console.

Luke nods curtly and rushes to the console. He catches Ezra to his right, dressed in an oversized navy windbreaker and wearing his hair in Luke’s infamous braided coil. Ezra had also grown a thick beard, which concealed his scars and enhanced the cerulean in his eyes.

Luke downloads the cache of information to Mon’s ether, Ezra’s concern at Vader’s presence radiating from his aura.

If Luke concentrates too much, the festering shadow will become toxic, encroaching on his Light. He can’t afford a mind breach; his knowledge of Rebel cell movements is expansive, to put it lightly.

Mon shifts towards them. “Finish quickly. My transport is here for me.” She points at both of them. “Get on the last ship. I can’t afford to lose either of you.”

Luke nods, and Ezra says, “yes, ma’am.”

Mon follows an officer, a casual white dress flowing behind her.

Luke and Ezra look at each other.

A sense of foreboding is a darkness in Ezra’s eyes. “I need to be honest with you about something.”

“You’re scared of my old man,” Luke says, “I know.”

Ezra does not laugh. “Don’t joke about this, please. He’s almost here.”

“Double check,” Luke soothes, scanning the control room, “is everything erased?”

Ezra takes a sweep of his room, gazing calculatedly at the empty caches. “It would seem so.”

The room shakes with new intensity. Ezra loses his balance, tipping down on one leg. Luke catches him on reflex, encircling his arms around Ezra’s waist. Ezra’s nose nuzzles into Luke’s parka as the room stabilizes again.

Another beat, and Ezra picks his head up, beard scratching Luke’s jaw. Luke is warmer than a moment earlier, and Ezra blushes.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, “that doesn’t happen often, huh?”

Luke hums in agreement, moving on tiptoes to peck Ezra’s bristly cheek. Ezra’s skin flares up with excess heat, the darkness in his eyes fading.

“Hey!” 

The couple turns to the door, Han grappling onto the frame. His face is immeasurably pale, eyes glittering in fear.

“Get on my ship,” Han commands, “now.”

“Is Leia with you?” Luke asks.

Han shakes his head. “She went off on her X-wing.”

“She just got out of the medbay!”

The incident with the tauntaun was still fresh on Luke’s mind. He had left her on a hospital bed when the base was alerted of an Imperial attack.

“I know,” Han sweats, “I know. No one could have possibly stopped her.” His tone turns frantic. “She kept saying the word ‘Yoda,’ like a crazy person. I don’t know, okay?”

The room quakes again, Ezra grasping Luke’s hand on instinct.

“She’ll be safe with Yoda,” Luke promises Han.

“Oh,” Han sighs in relief, “okay. Now let’s go!”

Luke guides Ezra forward, Han leading them to the docking bay nearby. Icicles fall like transparent knives, chunks of loose snow piling atop his shoulders. 

The shadow beast has arrived.

Ezra’s heart pounds so loud beneath his layers of warm shirts and coats it reverberates next to Luke’s own heartbeat.

They move with the impact of each quake, Han flying around like a battered sail. He still made it to the Falcon, Chewbacca yelling at Han in Shyriiwook.

“Are the engines hot?” Han shouts, receiving an affirmative yowl.

Han runs up the ramp. By the time he is at the top, Luke and Ezra are one pace behind him.

Han disappears into the ship, and Luke hears it.

“Master Luke! Master Ezra!”

Ezra scowls as Threepio slowly and frantically runs for the ship.

Luke runs back out, Ezra calling his name, and grabs onto Threepio’s forearm. “Come on!”

“Oh!” Threepio skids on his legs, “this is most irregular, Master Luke!”

They reach the ramp as it retracts, Ezra offering a hand. Luke takes it as the ship closes them in, letting go of the fussy protocol droid.

“Oh, my!” Threepio exclaims. “Most irregular, indeed!”

Luke pats his arm. “It’s fine, Threepio. Go sit.”

“Why, alright, Master Luke,” Threepio acquiesces, trotting to the booth.

Ezra scoffs. “Don’t get why you like that droid so much.”

“He does his best,” Luke says gently.

Ezra shrugs, settling for ushering Luke into the cockpit.

“Uhhhh,” Han reports, “the ship isn’t moving.”

“Huh?!” Ezra exclaims.

Luke glances out the viewport, and he stumbles back. “Kriff,” he curses.

They are floating in midair. Vader is upon them, stopping the ship from taking off with a vice grip on the Force.

“Luke,” Han says incredulously, “what in the fuck is this voodoo, and can one of you stop it before I pass out from shock?!”

Chewbacca growls something about Vader stunting the engines, and Luke really, really wants to know how the Wookiee knows that for a fact.

Ezra squeezes Luke’s hand and says hollowly, “I see him. Look to the east.”

Luke spares another look out of the viewport.

And there is Vader, who burst a hole through several feet of thick ice. His arms are out, palms splaying to halt the Falcon from flying away. 

Snowtroopers gather around the starship and point pulse blasters at them, but they are harmless insects compared to Vader.

“I’ll go,” Luke says gravely.

“No,” Ezra growls.

“Then, what?” Luke asks, at a loss. “He won’t let us go if I’m here.”

“You’re stronger than him,” Ezra emphasizes. “I know you are. You can do this from inside.”

“Okay,” Han holds up his hands, “as long as you don’t destroy my ship, I’m down for anything right now. Seriously.”

Chewbacca roars his agreement.

Luke clutches Ezra’s hand for a burst of comfort, turning to study his profile. “Okay. I can do this.”

“Yes,” Ezra supports, solidifying Luke’s resolve, “you can.”

Luke steps forward, their hands falling away from each other. He stands between Han and Chewbacca, in the small space between their chairs. The two pilots look up at him curiously, but do not break his concentration.

Luke stares at Vader through the viewport. 

The durasteel mask tilts, and Vader looks right back at him.

“Vader,” Luke mutters as a greeting.

He closes his eyes, inhales sharply, grasps onto his inner Light, and holds out his arm. He spreads his fingers out, holds his breath, and seeks out the shadow hand clamping down on the Falcon’s engines.

His Light approaches the shadow hand like a surging tidal wave. His body fills with energy jostling around his organs. He waits a beat, holds his breath, and waits in awe. His Light is boundless, as strong as a supernova. 

He is so much more than he thought. Luke is stardust. He is a warp drive. He is power itself.

Spellbound, he touches the shadow hand. He exhales deeply.

The wave crashes, swallowing the hand whole, the Dark steaming and fizzling out like a weak flame.

The engines roar, and Han exclaims his delight. His hands clamp on the wheel as his foot presses the gas pedal.

Time slows as they speed away. The viewport distorts and Luke sees Vader, clear as day, as if they are no more than a few feet from each other.

Luke’s Light has ripple effects: the tidal wave surges forward more than projected, brightening whatever unbroken lights lie dangling from hinges, causing them to spread to the ice, loosening chunks and resulting in the ceiling crumbling over the snowtroopers and Vader’s head.

Vader loses concentration, the looming figure falling to his knees, weak from the Light banishing his Dark.

The image tears away as Han exits the hanger bay, flying with glee. Time restarts like a defibrillator sending a shock to Luke’s heart.

The icy sky bends into stars, and the Falcon shoots off into hyperspace. Luke’s mind is thrown into a blender, spinning and spinning and-

He collapses into Ezra’s warmth.

-

“Keep flying,” Ezra says weakly, “I’ve got him.”

Luke sees an image of Ezra holding onto his limp body, and he crashes into the cockpit doorway. He looks at his hands, and they are transparent blue. He exhales, eyes bugging out of his head.

He’s having an out-of-body-experience. 

“There’s a couch in the back,” Han calls out readily. Luke snaps his head up, and notes Han’s face is remarkably pale with worry.

Luke’s transparent aura follows Ezra as he drags Luke’s physical body, as delicately as he can, to the back of the ship. Threepio is babbling frantically, but Ezra shuts him up with a heated look.

The couch is in a space that functions as a bedroom for Han. It is sparsely decorated, as Han prefers to bunk within the base itself whenever Leia is around.

Ezra shakily lowers Luke’s body onto the couch, shifting so that his head rests on a pillow. Ezra picks up his legs separately, which didn’t reach the other end of the couch.

Is he really this...small?

Ezra kneels by his head and brushes wisps away from his eyes. Ezra strokes his hair, fixated on his tired face.

“Oh, darling,” Ezra murmurs, “you make it so hard to love you.”

“I know,” Luke whispers.

Ezra jumps, legs sprawling on the ground as his head snaps. Towards transparent Luke.

Ezra gapes. “How are you doing that?” 

Luke’s heart stutters. “You see me?!”

Ezra nods, breathing raggedly. “Do you know how you’re...doing that?”

“Not really,” Luke says weakly.

Ezra gains his footing and stumbles over to face Luke. They are an inch away. Ezra stretches out his arm. “May I?”

“Yes.”

Ezra moves his hand towards Luke’s. They pass right through each other. Ezra sucks in a breath, Luke’s eyes wide and beseeching.

“Help me,” Luke pleads, “please.”

“Okay,” Ezra’s thoughts flash before his eyes, “Ahsoka taught us how to cloak our bodies, but this is different. Your consciousness, your aura, your soul, or perhaps a combination of everything, are partially, or entirely, separated from your body.” 

Ezra begins to pace, but does not take his gaze away from Luke’s transparent form for more than a few seconds.

“You are transparent, like a Force ghost, as Kanan showed me with his Master,” Ezra works out, “but you are not dead. Your pulse is strong. You look like…”

Ezra stops in his tracks, having a realization.

“What?” Luke asks quietly.

Ezra spins and regards Luke, stepping close again. “You look like a holo.”

Luke purses his lips.

“You have the ability of Force projection,” Ezra concludes, a little in awe. His lips curl back into a dazed smile. “You continue to surprise me, husband.”

Luke snaps his fingers. “Focus, please.”

Ezra blinks from a momentary trance. “How did you just do that?”

Luke stares at his hand, miming a finger snap. “Not sure. I just...wanted to do it.”

Ezra gasps. “That’s it! You just have to...want to wake up in your body.”

Luke furrows his brows. “Okayyyy…I’ll try.”

He closes his eyes and takes a calming breath.

On the exhale, he is transported in a whoosh.

His eyes snap open, feeling his physicality weigh him down. He falls out of the couch and barely catches himself.

Ezra crouches and lifts him up, rolling Luke’s side onto the couch cushions. “Alright, that worked. There we go.” Ezra’s hand brushes back a stray strand of Luke’s hair, curling it over his ear. Luke registers Ezra’s thumb absently catch on his hearing aid, as if checking it were still in place. “How do you feel?”

“Dizzy,” Luke grumbles.

“Lay down and rest,” Ezra soothes, holding onto his shoulder.

Luke does not have the energy to protest. He tips his head back into the pillow as he huddles on his side. He closes his eyes and waits for his mind to stop spinning.

Ezra’s hand combs through Luke’s hair, minding the braid crown, and it helps way more than Luke will ever admit.

————

Ezra enters the cockpit while Han does a search of nearby systems. Chewbacca yowls to garner Han’s attention. 

Han looks over his shoulder at Ezra. “Is Luke alright?”

“Not sure,” Ezra sighs, dropping into a seat, “he’s sleeping.”

“Well, guess we owe him big time, huh?” Han prompts, gaze flickering back to the screen. “Ah! Lando.”

“What?”

“We’re closest to Bespin,” Han says, “and Vader took out most of the fuel reserves. I know a guy there. Lando.”

“Alright,” Ezra leans back in the chair, “can you trust him?”

“Uh...not sure.”

“Great,” Ezra chimes sardonically.

“If you keep doing that Force voodoo, I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

“Right.”

Han charts a course for Bespin and spins around in his chair. “Dude, you’re not good company, are you?”

Ezra grimaces. “Sorry.”

“Oh, I get it,” Han says smoothly, “you’re worried about him.”

“I’m always worried about him,” Ezra mumbles.

Chewbacca growls a “me too” and Ezra musters a half-smile.

As always, Ezra senses something more than he’s supposed to. Han has a spike driven through his heart, causing him to ache for-

“Leia will be fine with Yoda,” Ezra assures Han. “He’s the grandmaster of every Jedi in the galaxy.”

“Is he?” Han’s brows furrow. “Well, alright, then. Good for her.”

Ezra senses jealousy, and he laughs. “Yoda’s a little old green dude! Chill out, man!”

“Oh,” Han says quietly, flushing a little, “okay.”

Chewbacca chortles and growls about knowing Yoda, and Ezra decides he needs to have a conversation with this Wookiee at some point.

Despite the teasing, Han looks strangely vulnerable as he asks, “do you have any, um, advice on...well...does Leia even like me? Do you know? Because I don’t.”

Ezra blanches. “Of course Leia likes you!” He grins, amusement in his tone. “Come on, don’t be ridiculous!”

“Well,” Han waves his hands, “I don’t know! I don’t know what to do!”

Ezra laughs to himself while he provides a helpful reply. “From what I can tell, Leia is very focused on her training right now. The only thing you can do is what I did with Luke.”

“Which is?” Han blurts.

“Be kind and patient,” Ezra answers.

Han blinks at him. “Your beard gives you wisdom. It’s true.”

“It’s just a Hoth beard, Han.”

“It’s true,” Han repeats.

Ezra shrugs. “Alright, man. Alright.”

-

Ezra jumps when Luke glides out of Han’s room like nothing happened.

The color of Luke’s cheeks returned, forming a flattering pink blush to his skin. His eyes are clear and linger with a wisdom Ezra cannot comprehend the scope of. He stands at his full height, stripped to a cream-colored turtleneck and snow-white bubble vest, his fur-lined leggings leaving little to the imagination. 

“Luke,” Ezra clutches his chest whilst drinking him in, recovering from Luke’s answering smile, “are you okay?”

Luke hums, a smirk creating dimples on one side of his face. “It would seem so.”

Ezra rises to his feet, yanking himself away from the booth where he was previously thinking too many terrible thoughts, entertaining too many worst case scenarios.

“I...I’m amazed,” Ezra reaches out to cup Luke’s freckled cheek, thumb dashing across dimples, “you amaze me every day.”

“I figured out how to control it,” Luke says delicately, “my projection. I went to Dagobah to visit Leia.”

Ezra’s eyes widen. “You can do that?!”

“Guess so,” Luke replies bashfully. “I pissed off Yoda, but it was worth it to assure Leia.”

“Aw,” Ezra beams, recalling the sparring battles Luke won in the Senate using that same method, “I love ya.”

Luke turns his cheek to kiss the inside of Ezra’s wrist. “Love you more.”

Ezra, quite literally, melts.

“Now,” Luke prompts, holding his gaze, “where are we going?”

“Bespin, to refuel,” Ezra replies. “Han knows a guy, Lando.”

“Can we trust him?”

“Han doesn’t know.”

“Then we keep both eyes on this Lando character.”

Ezra nods in agreement, removing his hand from Luke’s cheek. They hear movement in the cockpit, and Han appears.

“Oh, good,” Han huffs, “we’re here.”

“What?” Threepio is flicked on by Chewbacca. “What did I miss?”

“Stay close,” Luke instructs his droid.

“Oh, alright, Master Luke,” Threepio says.

The ramp retracts, and Ezra senses figures approaching from inside the city.

Ezra gasps when he descends the ramp behind Han and realizes they are in the clouds.

“Cloud City,” Luke mutters, “I’ve heard of this place. Neutral ground.”

“That’s good,” Ezra says absently.

A dark-skinned man approaches, a cape flowing behind him. He is the epitome of suave, in that Ezra scoffs at his excess confidence.

The man hugs Han and greets the group warmly. Han introduces him as Lando Calrissian, leader of Cloud City.

Lando’s gaze instantly fixes on Luke, as if staring at a dream come to life. “My goodness,” he says, kneeling before Luke, “I have never seen a man of such unparalleled beauty in my city.”

Lando swipes up Luke’s hand and kisses it smoothly.

“And what is your name, king of hearts?” Lando poses, staring up at Luke, awaiting his answer with bated breath.

Ezra bites his lip to prevent laughter. Luke is objectively gorgeous to all beings in the galaxy, but to hear about it in such a dramatic fashion...oh, how hilarious.

“Luke,” he answers in his melodious voice, Lando rising to his full height.

“Well, it is a pleasure to meet a man called Light,” Lando says, eyes glittering, “I have no doubt you shine even brighter than your namesake, Luke.”

Han sends Ezra a look that asks ‘aren’t you going to do something?’

Ezra shakes his head discreetly, half-smiling in amusement. Flirtation means little; it is a lesson that he learned the hard way.

Lando regards Ezra, roving over him in a quick beat. “Do you always travel with such handsome men, Han?”

Ezra quirks a brow upwards, but is largely unmoved. Luke narrows his eyes at it, though, instantly suspicious.

Oh, Ezra could laugh.

“Same as ever,” Han says, masking a shift of discomfort with a grimace.

“Oh,” Lando smirks at Han, “we had our fun.”

What?!

Luke shoots Ezra an alarmed look.

Han clenches his jaw and says measuredly, “will you help us or not?”

Lando’s smirk becomes a smooth and warm grin. “Of course.”

Ezra cannot pinpoint the cause of the following swooping phenomenon in his stomach, but Lando’s words scream of danger.

-

Ezra and Luke are left alone after changing into new clothes in Lando’s private quarters. The furnishings are in Alderaanian colors, and just as lavish and suspicious as Lando himself.

Luke, wearing a maroon tunic and pants, a pure white cape encapsulating his slender form, sits on the couch, worrying his lip to indicate he is thinking.

Ezra takes the cushion beside Luke, wearing a high-collared navy dress shirt and slacks. His japor snippet hangs over his heart, only the chain visible around his neck. 

After a moment of comfortable silence, Ezra does not have to prompt Luke.

Luke verbalizes, “flattery breeds suspicion.”

Ezra bats his lashes. “A lot of it, yes.”

“I’m glad you sense it,” Luke says, gaze sliding to Ezra’s bearded profile. “I was unsure.”

“I know a casanova when I see one,” Ezra says lightly. “Wonder why Han fell for that shit.”

Luke makes a ‘psh’ sound. “You got me there.”

“He wants to impress Leia,” Ezra reveals for the sake of full disclosure, “very badly.”

Luke hums in consideration. “I sense her, you know. She is coming here.”

Ezra bristles. He couldn’t sense it himself, but he wasn’t surprised; sibling Force bonds are unique beyond any Jedi’s knowledge. “But why?”

“Exactly,” Luke says gravely, “that means we’re right. Something is off here.”

The words make Ezra hyper aware of his surroundings. The airy silence in the chamber echoes in his mind as his memory backpedals. He remembers when they arrived, the winding hallways and suspicious personnel following Lando’s every whispered order. There are flashes of gold in the edges of Ezra’s vision, and he inhales sharply at the epiphany:

There is someone missing from their merry group.

Ezra stares at Luke with wide eyes. Luke observes with furrowed brows. “What?” 

“Where’s Threepio?” Ezra asks slowly.

Chewbacca roars as he enters the room, carrying a Threepio torn to pieces on his back.

Luke rises in a gasp. “Threepio!”

Chewbacca explains in frantic growls, and Ezra translates: “He found Threepio in a junk pile, torn limb from limb by Ugnaughts.”

Threepio is set by the couch, a net tangling his dirty bronze limbs. Seeing those lightbulb eyes flickered out disturbs Ezra more than he thought it would.

Luke brushes his hands across the droid parts, plucking each from the net and setting them on the ground, forming a humanoid design.

Luke pauses, and he inhales sharply.

“We don’t have time to fix him all the way,” Luke says sadly. “Chewie, can you try your best to get something done?”

Chewbacca growls the affirmative, visibly affected by Luke’s drawn expression, eyes glistening with hurt.

Luke gives Chewbacca room to work, kneeling by Ezra’s position on the couch. Ezra’s breath catches for the shortest beat at the little ways Luke makes him feel worshipped.

“Vader is here,” Luke whispers, “I feel it in my heart.” His eyes prickle with wetness. “He’s trying to pinpoint my location.”

Ezra swallows thickly, his dreamlike trance at Luke’s position fading. He tries to find the shadow-presence that Luke feels so keenly, but he comes up with nothing; Vader must be cloaking, but it isn’t enough to get past Luke. “I can’t focus on the Force here. Are you sure it’s the Dark?”

“Completely,” Luke replies without reservation. “Leia is on her way too. She gets closer to landing by the minute.”

“What should we do?” Ezra asks.

The door slides open with a whoosh. Han enters wearing a white cotton shirt and a navy jacket to match smuggler pants.

“We’ll be outta here within an hour,” Han reports, “it’s almost done.”

Chewbacca flicks on Threepio. Han jumps a little at the protocol droid’s appearance.

“What happened to golden rod?” Han inquires.

Threepio’s eyes burn through them all, one by one, as the droid’s head turns. The lightbulb eyes linger on Ezra and Luke the longest.

“Masters,” Threepio says chillingly, “Lord Vader is here.”

His eyes flicker from gold to white, and he returns to normal.

“Oh, my goodness!” Threepio exclaims. “What do we do?!”

“Okay,” Han decides, “that bantha shit was creepy. We should go right now.”

“So soon?”

They all turn with wide eyes as Lando enters. 

“I was hoping we could have a meal together,” Lando says fluidly, “so I can get to know your friends, Han.”

“Uh…” Han turns his back to Lando, searching their expressions frantically.

Luke answers by stepping forward with his fakest, sweetest smile. “I would like to go.”

Han mouths ‘you’re crazy’ before everyone agrees with Luke. For Ezra, it was as easy as reciting ‘for better or for worse.’

“Wonderful,” Lando grins beneath his mustache, cape swishing, “follow me.”

Han goes first, then Luke, then Ezra, then Chewbacca with a half-built Threepio strapped to his back.

Lando makes idle chatter, and Ezra sifts through the Force curling around the man.

Lando is nervous.

The shadow beast remains contained, but that doesn’t mean the shadow beast isn’t there. Luke sent Ezra a clarifying look over his shoulder.

They move towards a dining room, and the door slides open.

Han unholsters his blaster and fires in the span of a single heartbeat.

Darth Vader’s hand rises, making the blaster bolt dissipate into harmless smoke. He stands at the end of the dining table, an unfamiliar bounty hunter in green Mandalorian armor beside him.

Stormtroopers appear, having been camouflaged into the white walls. Their blasters cock towards the group assembled at the door.

Vader only has eyes for Luke as Lando says, “I had no choice. I’m sorry. I have to protect my city.”

Despite Luke being completely and utterly screwed, he sends Lando a grimace. “I can understand that.”

Lando purses his lips at the act of kindness in the most unexpected of circumstances. The Mandalorian ushers Lando out of the dining room.

“Go,” Vader orders, his stormtroopers filing out as well.

Chewbacca roars curses at Vader, and Ezra stifles a smile at his courage.

Vader yanks on the Force violently, snatching the blaster from Han’s grip. Han balks at the looming figure, but does not cower.

Even Ezra cannot help but cower.

“Finally,” Vader breathes, his voice a slithering Moraband serpent, “we meet again, Luke Organa.”

Vader clenches his open palm into a fist. The Force crushes Han’s blaster until it is a heap of metal trash.

“Hey!” Han protests. “That’s my favorite blaster!”

“Han,” Luke glances over at the smuggler worriedly, “don’t.”

The hotheaded man heeds Luke’s warning and clamps his mouth shut. Han’s gaze, though, still expresses his simmering temper.

Darth Vader, suddenly, stares at Ezra as if he is a fascinating new toy. Ezra wants to curl up into a ball and whimper, but he does not move a muscle. He stares back neutrally.

“You,” Vader spits, “you are the one who protects Organa. Why?”

Ezra blinks once, the span of which being the length it takes for him to think and provide an answer. “Because you certainly won’t.”

Vader falls silent. So silent that his breathing apparatus cannot be heard thrumming.

Luke quirks his brow at Ezra, considering his rash action, deeming it amusing.

It is about time Luke stopped dancing around Vader. Ezra knows Luke told Vader he has twins, somewhere in the galaxy. Ezra confirmed it for Vader: Luke is his son.

Luke doesn’t seem to mind that Ezra told Vader…so he is probably tired of dancing around Vader too.

Vader breathes, raggedly and laboriously, as if choking on it.

“You lie,” Darth Vader exhales.

“You always say that,” Luke scoffs. “You know what the truth looks like in the Force just as well as I do.”

Vader’s mask swivels to Luke. “Be careful with the tone you take in my presence,” he says distastefully, “my son.”

Han and Chewbacca are silent, looking between the three Jedi on opposite sides of the dining room. They do not believe it, but when no one speaks against it, they start to comprehend it.

“Please,” Luke crosses his arms, lashes hanging low on his cheeks to express an uncaring attitude, “you rescinded the right to call me that when you became a tyrant,” he spits, “Anakin.”

Ezra clenches his jaw, curbing his urge to throw himself in front of Luke to protect him. If he made a stray move, Vader would have no qualms about killing him right in front of Luke.

Vader breathes heavily, “that name means nothing to me anymore. Now,” he grows emboldened, “where is your twin?”

“She’s on the way,” Luke replies casually, “and I’m sure she’ll pull no punches to save us.”

“Is that right?” Vader almost laughs. “You are just children. Neither of you know the power you possess.”

Luke snorts, restraining a mocking chortle. “That’s what you think!”

“That’s it,” Vader calls a set of Force cuffs to his palm, “you’re going to the hibernation chamber.”

Luke grins with glee. “Carbonite freezing, huh? Oh, fun!”

Ezra almost forgot: he’s sort-of-married to an insane man.

————

Han Solo is getting far more than he bargained for with this trip. As they are locked in the same cell, the hibernation chamber being prepared, Han goes absolutely berserk.

“YOU’RE RELATED TO DARTH FUCKING VADER?!” Han yells at Luke. “AND LEIA IS TOO?!”

“Okay,” Luke sighs as he plops on a concrete slab, “get it all out now.”

Han whirls at Ezra, who winces as he sits beside Luke. “You’re dating DARTH VADER’S KID! How does that not freak you out?! Seven Corellian Hells!”

Chewbacca drops the net containing Threepio on the floor with a resounding clunk, saying nothing as he works on fixing the protocol droid.

“Luke’s not,” Ezra frowns, “Vader’s kid, not really. He wasn’t raised by Vader. He’s hardly even come into contact with Vader.”

Han winces, dropping to the hard floor. “I guess you’re right.” 

Ezra’s leg presses up against Luke’s, as if trying to soothe him. Luke just hangs his head low, unable to look at anyone.

“I’m sorry,” Han says to Luke regretfully, “I shouldn’t have implied you were a bad person. I know you’re not. You’re actually one of the kindest beings I’ve ever met.” He nudges his head towards Ezra. “You are too.”

Luke peers over at Han on the floor. “It’s fine. It’s a lot to process without warning.”

“And this means,” Han realizes with a jolt, “Leia’s your sister?”

“Yes,” Luke replies.

“Does she know that?” 

“Uh huh.”

“And she’s coming here to fight Vader?”

“Unfortunately,” Luke says, “yes.”

The cell door opens, and they all stand on alert. A cache of stormtroopers led by Lando gather them to walk to the hibernation chamber.

Han sends him a dirty look, and Lando bows his head in immense guilt. He’s glad Lando regrets hurting them.

As they march, Chewbacca carrying Threepio again, Luke and Ezra turn their heads towards a vacant hallway.

“Leia,” Luke whispers, gaze widening.

Han stares at the hallway and acts fast. He stomps on a stormtrooper’s boot, causing a blaster to nudge his stomach. The group halts, and the couple behind him take full advantage of it.

“LEIA!” Ezra yells.

“IT’S A TRAP!” Luke exclaims. “LEIA, IT’S A TRAP!”

Han glimpses a body shift in the hallway. Leia heard them. But knowing Leia, she would spring the trap anyway.

The stormtroopers close in with their blasters, forcing them back into line. Lando guides them forward, down another and another hallway. 

Eventually, he stops.

His cape swishes as he turns. “Now.”

Half of the stormtroopers knock out the others with timed smacks to their helmet heads. The concussed troopers crash to the floor, the imposters removing their masks.

They are Lando’s personal employees. Han recognizes them from when they fixed up the Falcon.

Lando is handed a blaster, and he declares, “consider this a breakout. I’ll get you to your ship.”

Han holds up his cuffed hands. Lando unbinds them all.

“Color me surprised,” Luke says, rubbing his freed wrists, “thank you.”

“Don’t thank the one whose fault it is,” Lando says with permeating guilt. “Now come on.”

-

As they are leaving Cloud City in the Falcon, Luke pales as white as a sheet.

“Go below the city,” he says, “Leia is down there.”

Han nods as Lando asks, “who’s that?”

“My sister,” Luke replies, “Han’s crush. Whichever you prefer.”

“Ooh,” Lando smirks at Han, “how nice for you. I can’t wait to me-”

“Stay here,” Han orders gruffly, “she needs to see someone she knows.”

“I’ll-” Luke starts.

“No,” Ezra cuts in, “you’re still rattled from our earlier run-in with Vader. I’ll go.”

Luke acquiesces, plopping into the seat behind Han. He frowns at Luke’s sudden sickliness from whatever Force voodoo he did to let them escape Hoth. The sheen of strength he regained during their hours at Cloud City had worn off.

Han flies below the city and finds a figure hanging from a weather vane. It is Leia.

“I see her,” Han says reedily. As the Falcon inches closer, he eyes her torn fatigues and bruised face concernedly. “Oh, what did she do?”

“Fought Vader,” Luke replies, paling even more at the sight of her, “and lived.”

Ezra briskly makes his way to the back of the Falcon, finding the porthole. Han opens the circular panel from his position at the main console. He hears the lift rise with Ezra on it, the Falcon hovering below Leia. 

He waits an agonizing moment, his heart in his throat, then Ezra calls out, “close it!”

Han closes the porthole by flipping a switch, then focuses on flying them away from Bespin. There is movement going towards the back, but Han checks his impulse to see Leia with his own eyes.

Fly first. Leia later.

————

Leia examines the mechanical arm replacing her hand. She flexes it, twitches each finger, bends the digits so they touch her palm. She swirls her wrist and cannot help but admire the delicate and sleek metalwork.

She is alive. She is grateful for that.

Despite Yoda’s help, Leia was not skilled enough to fight Vader. She expected to lose more than an arm in the duel.

A part of her wanted to laugh as Vader plunged his blade in her stomach, laugh as her mouth filled with her own blood and she choked as she said ‘your daughter is dead now. Your daughter is dead.’

Leia has been morbid lately.

The man she needed to see entered the empty medbay.

Luke wears white, like her, wheeling in an IV drip linked to a morphine bag. According to Ezra, Luke held off Vader on Hoth and drained himself of his Force abilities. The weakness of his aura in the Force manifested itself into a sickly state, so he is on bed rest as much as Leia. He is regaining color to his cheeks, though, and his lips curve into a shy smile.

“Hey,” Luke says, “need company?”

“Yes,” Leia admits, “I need a dose of sunshine in my life.”

Luke snorts and sits on the edge of Leia’s bed. “Did you get your new arm?”

Leia lifts it up. “I’m a bionic woman now.”

Luke’s eyes twinkle in amusement. “It’s cool. Did you choose a false skin?”

Leia shakes her head. “It’s going to be my reminder, like Ezra with his scars.”

“Ah, that’s not the best example to follow.”

“Wow,” Leia half-smiles, “cold-blooded, dissing your man behind his back.”

Luke shrugs, becoming carefree and breezy. “I suppose I should tell you we’re, uh, kind-of-married.”

Leia furrows her brows. “How can someone be kind-of-married?”

“It’s a Lothal thing.”

“Alright, then,” Leia says neutrally, “I’m glad.”

Luke frowns, so suddenly that his aura dampens too. “You haven’t asked about Han.”

Leia looks away. “I know how he cares about me,” she says, “but I just...I just can’t right now.”

Luke understands, even though Leia hardly does herself. He nods once. He pushes off the bed, shakingly rising with one hand gripping the metal pole holding up his morphine bag. 

“Don’t wait too long,” Luke advises, “okay?”

Leia simply echoes, “okay.”

Luke wheels himself to the panoramic window. He studies what is going on outside the freighter. After a brief silence, he emits an adorable bubbly giggle.

The medbay door whooshes open, Threepio and Artoo entering.

“Master Luke,” Threepio says, “Master Ezra has gone-”

“I see him,” Luke says amusedly, smiling at what was outside.

“What?” Leia hops off the chair, covering her prosthetic hand with her sleeve. She pads over to Luke gingerly, catching the scent of Luke’s fruity shampoo. Leia looks out the viewport, and her eyes widen. “What are those?!”

“Purrgil.”

Leia stares incredulously at the oblong tentacled creatures that seemed to be floating in space. They were as massive as the freighter, possibly even large enough to encompass an entire planet in shadow.

Threepio and Artoo roll up beside Leia. Artoo beeps, and Threepio reports, “Master Ezra has lost his mind, I’m afraid, Master Luke.”

That’s when Leia catches sight of a neon orange space suit. She gasps.

And Luke giggles again, blowing a kiss to the stars as well as the man in the space suit. “Ezra’s safe. He’s just guiding them away before we go to lightspeed.”

Awestruck, Leia sees the space suit blow a kiss to Luke. She waves, and receives a wave back from Ezra. Luke leans against Leia’s side and beams brightly at Ezra.

Leia watches as Ezra rides a purrgil and leads the pack away.


	17. Age 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dad?” Wedge asks confusedly. “What are you doing here?”
> 
> Raymus smiles at the young men and women in the room, then steps beside Mon. “I will be supervising your mission.”
> 
> “Which is?” Winter asks impatiently.
> 
> Mon flicks on her datapad, transferring it to a hologram. It is security footage of the Alderaanian archives exhibit that recently opened to the elite on Chandrila, Mon’s home planet.
> 
> Everyone falls silent.
> 
> “Watch this closely,” Mon directs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Instead of having a Jabba’s palace sequence in my ROTJ rewrite, it has its own chapter! I experimented with POVs in this chapter as well.
> 
> My creative writing teacher has me writing fanfiction for an actual assignment. I’m doing HanLeia angst, and I might post it after this story is finished.

Mon waits for five beings to appear in her office. She sent meeting cards underneath the doors of each one at dawn, when base officers normally awoke to begin daily operations.

Ever since the Hoth disaster, she has been incredibly careful as to what information went where and to whom and at what time.

A new base was established above Mon Cala, Admiral Ackbar’s homeworld. The aquatic world garnered attention from officers, and she found herself accepting requests to swim on the surface.

Her door slides open, her youngest and best General being the first to arrive.

Mon would readily admit she had reservations about Luke Organa in the beginning. He was raised by Bail and Breha Organa, certainly, but he was a prince of an Imperial planet. The pressure got to Bail, even though he never admitted it. 

Luke, though, proved to be an asset forged of fire and endless steel. He is sweet and kind, but still lethal.

Clad in ivy leggings, a military shirt, and a Rebel-issued vest, Luke clasps his hands behind his back. His blonde hair flows freely down his shoulders, save for flame lily pins pulling his bangs aside.

“Ma’am,” Luke says, “good morning.”

“You’re early,” Mon quips, “as expected.”

Luke smiles impishly.

“I’ve invited four others to join us,” Mon says, “one of which, I’m assuming, is waiting outside the door?”

Luke nods curtly. “We were...unsure if rank had any difference.”

Mon smiles amusedly. “You’re both too cute. He can come in.”

Luke flushes at the remark, then walks to the door. He keys it open, the door sliding to reveal Ezra blinking at him. Luke steps back to allow Ezra to enter, closing the door behind him.

Ezra wears Rebel orange balloon pants and a sleeveless white shirt. A japor snippet, given to Ezra by Shara, Mon learned, rests proudly over Ezra’s heart. His curtain of thick hair is littered with thin braids, dangling across his jawline and secured with elastic bands.

Ezra, too, cups his hands behind his back as he approaches Mon. “Ma’am.”

Luke stands beside Ezra, retaking his stance. He wants very badly to ask what’s happening, but he controls his urge.

Mon cannot help herself. She smirks and says, “while I have you both here, I should mention that your paperwork has been accepted.”

Mon was shocked when she read a joint document from Luke and Ezra. It was proof of marriage from Ezra’s home planet, Lothal. It spoke of a ritual among their culture that allowed marriages to be recognized as official without ceremony or so much as an acknowledgement from family members. 

As surprised as Mon was by the document, she realizes the only reason the paperwork exists is to appease the Rebellion’s rule of romantic relationship transparency. As in, such relationships had to have proof submitted to file away in Mon’s ether. The only stipulation was that the relationship had to be formally accepted by Mon herself. She normally accepted them and passed it onto the ether thoughtlessly.

Where senior officers are concerned, though, Mon had to be careful.

She formally accepted Luke and Ezra’s marriage, after a lengthy thought process, because they do not allow personal feelings to encroach on their work. Besides occasional affectionate glances in meeting rooms, they controlled their emotions admirably well, even when in disagreement with each other on which route would work best in a stressful situation.

“Oh,” Luke says breezily, “good.”

“Do you plan on,” Mon asks, “telling your families of this change?”

Luke and Ezra share a look. There is permission in Luke’s gaze.

Ezra answers Mon, “only Leia knows, and we were thinking of...making a game of it.”

“Respectfully, ma’am,” Luke cuts in, “I’m against the Colonel’s semi-immature ways.”

Ezra sends Luke a smile. “Respectfully, ma’am, no he isn’t.”

Luke narrows his eyes at Ezra. Neither man folds or admits defeat.

“Discretion for now,” Mon decides, “as you wish.”

Luke and Ezra turn towards the door as it slides open.

Wedge Antilles arrives wearing his pilot’s jumpsuit minus the extra gear, black hair combed back neatly. “Ma’am.” He catches sight of the couple and smiles. “Well, hi. Long time no see.”

“Hey,” Luke chimes.

“Still dating that guy in data processing?” Ezra wonders.

Luke shoots Ezra a look. “Do you ever tell me anything when you go on a gossip spree?”

Ezra winks mischievously.

“Yes,” Wedge answers, glancing at Mon uncomfortably, “I am.”

“Good for you,” Ezra says genuinely.

The door slides open, the final two members of the meeting entering at the same time.

Winter Celchu enters clad in a powder blue dress shirt and white fur leggings. Her platinum blonde hair, now reaching to the middle of her back, flows free, not a strand out of place.

Evaan Verlaine wears smuggler pants and a brown tee, a Rebel orange bomber jacket hanging over her shoulders. Her dirty blonde hair is tied in a high ponytail, bangs falling down her brows.

“Ma’am,” they both say in semi-unison.

“Hiiii,” Ezra says, waving to the older women.

“Hey, Z,” Evaan greets him warmly. “Looking fabulous in those balloon pants, I see.”

Ezra grins in unfiltered delight. “Thank you, I try to keep up with the fashionistas.”

Luke snorts. “Okay, here’s all five of us, Mon. Now what?”

The door opens again, and Mon smiles. “Ah, here’s our secret number six.”

Their heads swivel, and Raymus Antilles enters wearing a maroon ensemble.

“Dad?” Wedge asks confusedly. “What are you doing here?”

Raymus smiles at the young men and women in the room, then steps beside Mon. “I will be supervising your mission.”

“Which is?” Winter asks impatiently.

Mon flicks on her datapad, transferring it to a hologram. It is security footage of the Alderaanian archives exhibit that recently opened to the elite on Chandrila, Mon’s home planet.

Everyone falls silent.

“Watch this closely,” Mon directs.

She plays the short video, watching the artifacts be there one second, and gone the next. She’s watched it so many times herself that she focused, instead, on their reactions.

“What in every hell,” Wedge mutters in disbelief.

Luke and Ezra analyze and say nothing. Evaan is aghast, and Winter’s face twists into one of anger.

“I’ll get those slime balls,” Winter vows.

“Winnie,” Ezra says, “think first.” He looks over at Mon. “What were we supposed to be searching for? I just saw everything black out and disappear.”

“No movement,” Luke observes, “and no sound.”

Mon smiles proudly. “Exactly.” She turns to Raymus. “Since Colonel Antilles was outside the building that night, please tell everyone the only information we have.”

Raymus regards the curious eyes with a wince. “I promise you, not a single sound inside. If there was, I’d have taken them out. But outside, I saw a group of shadows lingering near the building. I figured they were pedestrians, until they got close.”

Mon clicked open a symbol, hovering the image above their heads. “Recognize this?”

“Ah, kriff,” Winter says flatly.

“Jabba the Hutt’s bounty hunters,” Luke says, eyes flickering over to Mon. “Have you asked-”

“Leia,” Mon replies, “graciously agreed to return to her homeworld of Tatooine to give us a map of Jabba’s palace.”

Luke’s gaze flashes with concern. “She didn’t get taken as a sl-”

Mon shakes her head. “She’s decent at undercover work. Too decent, in fact.” Mon flicks on a three-dimensional map of Jabba’s palace. “As is infamously known, Jabba’s bounty hunters live in his palace. Unfortunately, his treasure trove is right below their feet.”

“Yessss,” Winter smirks, “this sounds like an easy mission.”

“Due to the sheer amount of stolen items,” Mon says, “it won’t be as simple as it looks. It requires patience, skill, and teamwork.”

Wedge beams. “Well, you picked just the right team for the job.” He frowns at his father. “Do we need a parental, though? We’re all adults.”

Mon ignores the remark. “Now,” she asks, “are you ready to take on the mission?”

Everyone says yes, as she knew they would.

————

Wedge Antilles zips up his travel bag, plopped on the chaise sofa in his shared quarters. He focuses intensely on his task, as he is being watched.

“I’m worried,” the man in his bed says. “What if something happens to you on this trip?”

Wedge regards his shirtless boyfriend, biting his tongue to curb his desire. Wedge could easily get distracted by such a dark-skinned beauty.

He says neutrally, “nothing will. I will be protected.”

The golden lights set James aflame, caramel eyes regarding Wedge warily. James sits up in bed with little care of showing off his body. In opposition, Wedge’s confidence wavers as easily as a flickering candle.

James crosses his arms to highlight his chest. “I hope you’re right.”

Wedge casts his gaze away, grabbing the handle of his bag. As he rises fluidly from the couch, he says, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

He makes to leave, but James clicks his tongue.

“Come here,” James says.

Wedge schools his expression and walks to the bed. He hides a burning blush.

James pushes himself up for leverage, head tilting as Wedge bends down.

“Kiss me,” James requests.

Wedge smiles shyly and leans towards plush lips. James cups Wedge’s cheek as the kiss matures. Wedge is soon so dizzy that his knees weaken, and he falls on the bed, exactly what James wanted.

Wedge makes a noise in his throat and pulls back. “That wasn’t fair,” he murmurs.

James smiles. “Be safe.”

“I will,” Wedge promises, rising to his feet. His bag goes over his shoulder, and he leaves James in their room.

The door hisses closed, and Wedge breathes. His cheeks are flaming.

He hears someone hum. “I know what that looks like.”

Wedge jumps, eyes widening. Ezra evaporates from nothing out of nowhere. 

Ezra laughs, uncaring of Wedge’s embarrassment. “Your face is so red! Ah, so easy to catch ya off guard!” He claps Wedge’s shoulder. “Now come on, you’re the last one we’re waiting for.”

Wedge flushes and looks away from Ezra as they walk. “Not everyone is shameless,” he mutters.

“Confident,” Ezra picks up, “you mean confident.” They round a corner and walk towards the hanger bay. “Don’t worry about it, man. You’re already doing something right if you have a cute guy’s attention.”

Wedge furrows his brows at Ezra. “So that’s how you look at it, then?”

“Yup,” Ezra chimes.

“What about,” Wedge ducks his head nervously, “insecurity?”

“Insecurity, in my case, resulted in jealousy,” Ezra says casually. “One breeds the other. If you don’t like yourself, you can’t truly like the other person. So,” they round another corner, “you have to pay attention to what he likes. If you do the things he likes, your confidence is right there.”

“Seriously?” Wedge asks in disbelief. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Ezra affirms.

Wedge snorts, “I just realized I’m talking to a younger guy about relationships. My little brother, who’s dating my other little brother!” He sighs. “How far I’ve fallen.”

Ezra arches a brow. “I think you just needed a reminder.”

They enter the hanger bay sooner than expected, his father’s starship ready to load its passengers. The whole group waits for the duo to arrive.

“There’s the gossip mill,” Winter says with an eye roll. “You take forever.”

Luke winds his elbow around Ezra’s arm. The couple shares a rare smile, Luke leaning on tiptoes to kiss Ezra’s shaved cheek.

“You were apart for five whole minutes,” Evaan shakes her head fondly, “gross.”

Raymus descends the starship ramp and orders, “let’s get going.”

Wedge frowns and files into line to enter the ship.

-

Wedge sits in the copilot’s chair on the Tantive VI, a new vessel built to model the Alderaanian starships before it. The ship is on a night cycle, but he knows everyone cannot sleep.

He stares as the Tantive VI follows the coordinates punched in, set on autopilot and cloaked to be safe. He observes the computer, as if willing the numbers to fall off course so he would have something to do, fix it manually.

Familiar footsteps enter the empty cockpit, studying Wedge curled up in the chair.

“Like father like son,” Raymus says, dropping into the pilot’s seat. He swivels the chair to face Wedge. “You should get some sleep.”

“Save your breath,” Wedge says dryly, “you know I won’t.”

His relationship with his father has been...frayed, since Alderaan was reduced to nothing. Their paths diverged in the Rebellion’s giant machine, and they were apart more than they were together.

“Wedge,” Raymus says delicately, “why do I feel like I should be apologizing?”

Wedge stares outside the starry viewport. “If you feel that way, then I should too.”

There is a pointed silence.

Raymus says, “I am sorry, son. I am. I should have been there for you after...well, after everything. I became obsessed with...finding every artifact, every jewel, every piece of our planet I could get my hands on.”

“I know,” Wedge says hollowly, “no need to remind me.”

“I’ve been away for too long,” Raymus says quietly. “I’ve wrecked it entirely, haven’t I?”

“Not entirely.”

It’s not like Wedge could forget the wonderful relationship he had with his father from the beginning. Ever since his mother died when he was young, Raymus was all he had. Wedge remembered that every day: he only has his father as a blood relative left.

“Oh,” Raymus sighs in relief, “good. I...I want to know you again, Wedge.”

Wedge clenches his jaw. A particular star in space is brighter than the rest.

“Does that mean you’re staying on base?” Wedge asks, refusing to let hope enter his voice.

“Yes,” Raymus replies, “I’m tired of guarding an artifact exhibit.”

“That’s nice,” Wedge says neutrally. “I suppose that’s all I can ask for.”

Raymus frowns deeply at him. “Can you look at me for a minute?”

Wedge swivels his chair. He looks at his father.

“I love you, son,” Raymus says.

Wedge nods slowly. He believes it. He knows it.

————

Winter Celchu scans the inner pit of Jabba’s palace. She wears a slinking silver dress, catching the eye of nearly every bounty hunter present. Her hair was tightly wound in dual braids, one on each shoulder. 

Slime balls tended to like younger-looking women.

Being the supplanted distraction is not Winter’s preferred job, but the thought of Evaan, her sweet darling Evaan, being eyed by such disgusting creatures moved Winter to adopt the position.

Winter swipes up a glass of dirty alcohol to mask her mouth. She says into her microscopic earpiece, “the doors have ax-wielding guards.”

“Fun,” Ezra chimes sarcastically.

“They look mind trick-able,” Winter examines, “so do that hand wave thing.”

“Got it.”

Winter sips the alcohol for her cover; it is disgusting, dirty sink water laced with chemicals. Nothing harmful, though; Winter can distinguish a poison from a placebo.

She catches sight of a Mandalorian clad in green, which Luke told her to watch out for.

“Oh no,” Winter says over the rim of the glass, “that Boba Fett player is here.”

“Kriff,” Luke curses, “that’s an indicator of…”

“What?”

“I’ve seen Fett with Vader.”

Winter glides over to the bar. “Well that’s not good.”

“Keep an eye on him. We don’t know whose side he’s on, but it’s definitely not ours.”

“Alright.” Winter reaches the corner of the bar, a Zabrak bounty hunter staring at her. She smiles, then drinks more of the worst alcohol she’s ever tasted. “Wedge, Evaan, how are we doing, sweeties?”

“Our getaway is secured,” Evaan clips.

“And I’m at your three o’clock,” Wedge reports.

Winter turns; it is bold of Wedge to do undercover work. He hasn’t expressed interest in going out in the field for several years, since they were teenagers together.

Wedge is inconspicuous, to her immense surprise, in the crowd of criminals. His features blend into any crowd, but stand out when he brings attention to himself. He wears a brown leather ensemble, looking like a rough and worn smuggler.

Winter hides her mouth in the glass and says, “you look like Han Solo.”

She hears Wedge’s huff-laugh through his earpiece. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

In the corner of her eye, Boba Fett leaves the bar.

Winter snaps to her full alertness and leaves the glass on a bar counter. “I’m following Fett.”

“I’ll stay on Jabba,” Wedge says, “not that he moves.”

-

Winter stands flat against a palace wall. Boba Fett flicks on a commlink in answer to a call, his back to Winter.

“Fett,” he says through a vocoder.

“I have a job for you,” someone says through a scrambler.

“Who does it regard, sir?” Boba asks.

“You know who it regards,” the scrambler spits.

“Well, then,” Boba’s amusement reaches his tone, “I happen to have a fruitful lead on that. I have it on my good eyes that an Alderaanian spy is at Jabba’s palace with me.”

Winter’s heart stops. Kriff! She has never been made before!

“A spy,” the voice says, “good. The spy will lead us to Organa.”

Oh.

Shit.

“Leave it to me, Lord Vader,” Boba says, flicking off the comm.

Vader!

Winter does not move, does not breathe. Boba passes by without noticing her.

She whispers into her earpiece, “I’ve been made. Fett is on Vader’s side.”

“There’s a door down the hallway,” Evaan says, “I’ll get you.”

Winter walks briskly, but does not make it very far. A blaster cocks against her back, and she stiffens.

“Snowstorm,” Boba says through his vocoder, “lovely to meet you. Hands up.”

Winter holds them up, keeping her earpiece on.

An engine roars, and a swoop of blonde hair is visible from the driver’s seat of a landspeeder.

Boba trains his blaster barrel on the vehicle, and Winter spins. She kicks him in the groin, snatching his blaster from his weakened grip. Boba doubles over and falls to the ground.

Winter runs for the landspeeder, hopping into the back.

Boba struggles to his feet, and Evaan fires her blaster in his direction. The bolt singes his shoulder, and he falls again.

“Go!” Winter exclaims.

Evaan hands Winter the blaster and slams the gas pedal. Evaan drives them back to the starship.

Winter says through the earpiece, “the distraction has been achieved. Move fast!”

————

After Evaan Verlaine drops Winter with Raymus, she drives back to Jabba’s palace. The environment flies past her in a blur. She listens to the commotion in her earpiece while she flies the landspeeder.

“Boba’s telling Jabba about the breach,” Wedge reports. “He’s dispatching bounty hunters to every door.”

“That’s a good thing,” Luke says.

“How?!”

Ezra replies, “they’ll decrease security on the vaults.”

“Vault is a strong word for it,” Luke observes. “More like a jewelry pile.”

“The pit is thinning out,” Wedge says. “We could make a hit on Jabba if we wanted to.”

“It’s good Leia didn’t just hear that,” Luke says with a grimace.

“She would do it,” Ezra murmurs, “seriously. Even though we may want to, we can’t. That’s a different mission.”

“Agreed,” Luke says. “How are we doing, Evaan?”

“I’m coming up on the palace,” Evaan notes her observations, “and some bounty hunters are bailing out.”

“Leaving?” Luke hums. “Interesting.”

Evaan ducks her head as her landspeeder passes others that are escaping the palace. She picks her head back up once the engine roars die down.

Wedge says, “from what I can tell, the level below my feet is empty of guards.”

“My turn,” Ezra chimes. “Stand guard, darling.”

Evaan barks out a laugh as she finds an opening to land near the palace exit. “Darling, Luke? Really?”

“Daaaarrrliiiingggggg,” Wedge draws out teasingly.

“Shut up,” Luke clips. “Stop staring at me, Ezra.”

“Don’t want to,” Ezra flirts.

“Dammit,” Luke snaps his fingers, “go!”

“Alright, alright,” Ezra sighs.

Evaan parks, but leaves the landspeeder engine thrumming. She glances around the mostly-empty lot.

Boba Fett steps out onto the sand.

Evaan scowls. Boba stares at her.

“You’re not Snowstorm,” Boba observes through the vocoder. 

“Correct,” Evaan says, batting her lashes lazily. She knows bounty hunters smell fear, so she schools a nonplussed expression. “Now, who are you? Should I know you?”

“Good, Evaan,” Luke says calmly through the earpiece, “keep doing that. We’re looking at the jewels.”

Evaan tilts her head to the side to mask a twinge of relief. “Hello?” She waves her hand. “Are you broken, honey?”

Boba’s helmet cocks towards her, and he takes a step closer to the humming landspeeder. “I saw you driving this an hour ago. Yes. I remember.”

Evaan says nothing, hand gripping the side of her blaster. She is glad Winter left it in the passenger’s seat; her girlfriend always thinks several steps ahead of her opponents.

“You know Snowstorm,” Boba growls. “Where is that little bitch? She has my gun!”

Evaan clenches her jaw to curb her expression. “The only little bitch here is you.”

“Damn, Eve,” Ezra quips through the earpiece, clearly grinning, “good one.”

“The artifacts are packed up,” Luke says, “we’re almost there.”

“I don’t like you,” Boba trains a second blaster on her, “and do you know what I do to people I don’t like?”

“Take a pottery class with them to settle your differences?” Evaan guesses.

Wedge guffaws in her ear.

“I make their deaths painful,” Boba growls. “A blaster bolt to the heart is not enough. I make a game of it.”

Evaan smirks. “Promises, promises.”

A bolt shoots a hole through Boba’s blaster, and it catches fire. Boba drops the blaster and whips his head to the exit.

Wedge smiles toothily as he lowers his blaster. “Sup, bro. Got any more weapons?”

Boba’s gloved hands move towards the jet pack strapped to his back.

In the span of a blink, Evaan points and shoots her blaster at the jet pack. It sears clean through the device, rocket fuel pouring out of the bolt hole. The jet pack lets out a spark.

Wedge makes it to Evaan as the spark ignites the fuel. It travels up in a flame, and Boba screams through his vocoder.

Unceremoniously, Boba Fett is set on fire.

And he runs, deeper and deeper into the unknown desert.

Evaan and Wedge watch as he disappears into the rock formations and distant sand dunes, a line of smoke trailing above him.

Luke and Ezra appear to watch, too, carrying bags containing all the stolen property from the Alderaan exhibit.

“Huh,” Wedge says, “goodbye, Boba Fett. We hardly knew ye.”

Luke and Ezra shrug, tossing the bags in the back of the humming landspeeder.

“Good work,” Wedge praises, patting Evaan’s shoulder.

Evaan cannot muster a smile. Instead, she asks, “who should drive?”

They all look at each other. Ezra instantly holds up his hands in surrender.

Just when Evaan thought it was over, all the landspeeders, all the roaring engines containing bounty hunters...return.

“Oh,” Ezra says to the horizon, “kriff.”

The oval-shaped shadows gain on them, and Ezra hops in the back seat. A metal cylinder is pulled away from his back, and two blades ignite.

“Who’s fastest?” Wedge asks in a rush. “I’m not fast!”

Counting himself out, he jumps into the back seat, cocking his blaster towards the oncoming storm.

Evaan says, “you can do it, Luke. I know you want to.”

Luke beams. “Let’s go, kiddos.”

Evaan climbs into the passenger’s seat, Luke sitting in the driver’s seat. Her own blaster alongside Boba’s awaits her. She takes each one in a hand and ensures they are loaded.

“Get ready,” Luke braces them.

“He means it,” Ezra calls out, “he’s a speed demon from the pits of Hell.”

“Aw,” Luke grins maniacally, “thanks, babe.”

His foot presses the gas pedal so hard that Evaan swears her spleen hops out of her mouth.

They fly right towards the pack of landspeeders. There must be around a dozen, but it is the only way to return to the ship.

And Winter, Evaan’s mind adds.

Evaan aims one blaster over the windshield, the other near her side door. She glances as Wedge does the same, aiming his blaster near the door. She waits, listening to Ezra’s lightsaber blaze with yellow-blue energy.

After a stretch of hearing the engine and the sand kicking up in the excess air, the landspeeders ahead open fire.

Luke carts them around in a snake-like pattern, every single bolt missing them. Not even getting close to them!

Wedge laughs in delight. “Yes, Luke! YES!”

Luke slams the brakes, causing a perfectly-timed skid. They pass a landspeeder packed with Rodians. Evaan fires at one, Wedge getting a shot in as well. Ezra, in a single twirl of his lightsaber, absorbs every bolt fired in their direction.

Evaan laughs in relief as the landspeeder crashes.

Luke regains control with the gas pedal, and they slink past three more landspeeders. Their opponents are so shocked by the lightning-fast assault they crash into one another.

Their final boss appears atop a sand dune: Jabba’s skiff.

“Ah,” Evaan says, “karabast.”

Luke spins the wheel hard, causing a side skid. The humming landspeeder hovers, coming to a stop with an ease on the brakes.

“Why are you stopping?!” Wedge exclaims.

“Yes,” Evaan stares at Luke, panic setting in, “I would also like to know that!”

Luke, though, only has eyes for Ezra. And Ezra simply stares back, the couple having a nonverbal conversation.

Ezra holds the double-sided lightsaber horizontally with one hand while unclipping two more metal cylinders.

And, okay...what is happening?!

Luke’s hands leave the wheel as each hand grasps a lightsaber hilt. Luke’s entire face changes, becoming drawn and burdened.

It clicks for Evaan, and her mouth falls open.

Ezra was never the only Force sensitive that needed protecting on Alderaan…

Wedge has the same realization, and the two look at each other.

“Evaan,” Luke says, garnering her attention, “drive us to the opposite side of the skiff. And leave room.”

Evaan shuts her mouth abruptly and nods.

Ezra rises from the landspeeder and uses the back to leap with the Force, landing atop the skiff. The bounty hunters on board open fire.

Luke stands over the windshield and leaps too, farther and lighter. In midair, two lightsabers ignite.

They are white and green.

Luke disappears atop the skiff like Ezra, and Evaan slides into the driver’s seat. The weight of her station is heavy, but she grits her teeth for concentration.

Evaan presses the gas pedal, leaving a wide berth as she rounds the skiff. She hears blaster fire and blazing crystals in the distance.

When she reaches the back side, the skiff’s engine sputters. 

Like a bag of sand, the skiff creaks and falls, a plume of dust brushing the edge of the landspeeder.

Evaan hears shouting atop the skiff, but two figures drop onto the landspeeder.

Luke climbs into the passenger’s seat, Ezra taking the back seat beside Wedge. Evaan catches sight of both lightsabers clipped onto Luke’s utility belt, his skin a tad pale.

“Let’s go,” Luke says, snapping Evaan out of her momentary trance.

Evaan drives.

-

After Evaan catches up Winter on all she missed, she sulks on the couch. Raymus and Wedge are flying them back to base.

“You got to have all the fun,” Winter pouts.

Evaan curls up against Winter, receiving a rare blush in return. “I don’t know how you were a spy all these years,” Evaan admits, “I was terrified the whole time.”

“Oh,” Winter’s arms encircle Evaan’s waist, “I’m sorry I couldn’t reassure you. I’m sure you were magnificent.”

“Charmer,” Evaan huffs.

Winter hums, pressing a kiss to Evaan’s temple.

“Uh,” Ezra blinks at the doorway, “how long has this been going on?”

“Don’t embarrass Evaan,” Luke chastises, slipping past Ezra and entering the living space.

“I don’t know,” Winter says blankly, “how long have you been a Jedi?”

Luke winces. “Okay, that’s fair.”

Ezra stands near him, as if trying to shield Luke from scrutiny. Old habits, Evaan supposes.

Luke answers, “this isn’t a part of myself I particularly embrace. I don’t consider myself a Jedi. I had to learn how to control my abilities to survive Imperial detection.”

“So,” Winter parses, “you’ve hidden this about as long as you hid Ezra’s real name?”

Luke frowns, but nods in assent. 

“I know it looks bad,” Ezra says, fingers curling with Luke’s, “but you know we adore all of you, right? You’re so important to us.”

Evaan nods. “I do know that.” 

Winter regards her with a side glance. 

“All of us on this ship,” Evaan realizes, “have gone through something no one else in the galaxy can understand. We’re family, above all.”

Luke smiles impishly. “I’m glad you think of it that way, Evaan. You’re right.”

Ezra tugs Luke away absently. “You may continue making out now.”

“Ezraaaa,” Luke sighs, facepalming with one hand as he disappears into the hallway.

Winter gathers Evaan in her arms. Evaan smiles and allows it.

————

Raymus Antilles meets with Mon as the Tantive VI docks on base. He brings out the artifacts in bags, which are immediately transported away by Mon’s men.

He stands beside Mon as she remarks, “they’re in good spirits.”

Raymus’s gaze settles on his son. Wedge meets with a man he does not recognize at the hanger bay, coaxing him into an extremely indecent kiss. The rest of the group howls in delight at the display.

Luke and Ezra shake hands with the unfamiliar man, joking with him instantly. They stand close, showing more affection than they normally did in public with subtle touches.

When the couple announced their discreet marriage whilst in hyperspace, it received little fanfare. Everyone on the ship knew them well, figuring they had been more than ‘just boyfriends’ for years. 

Winter and Evaan, though, shocked the group with their discreet relationship. They linked arms now, meeting the man who has captured his son’s interest.

They had all grown up, right under Raymus’s nose. It was a mistake he will never make again.

“They’ve made little couplings,” Raymus says regretfully, his eyes watering, “and I missed it.”

“There’s still time,” Mon says wisely. “Meet your son’s boyfriend. His name is James.”

Wedge turns to him from afar, a prompt, and Raymus steps forward. He walks towards the group hesitantly, and Wedge smiles at him.

He introduces Raymus to James, and he feels their relationship mend.


	18. Age 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do we even,” Leia asks, “say? What do we even do? Nothing? Something?”
> 
> Luke rests his arms on his knees, pressing his cheek against his cloaked shoulder. “We were brought here for a reason,” he says, “so the answer, I suppose, is to do something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m uploading this from a pet hospital parking lot after my dog was attacked, so this might be pretty disjointed writing at parts.
> 
> (I’m sure it’s just antibiotics for my darling puppy boy.)
> 
> *Edit: My dog is going to be okay. He’s a tough lil guy.
> 
> Also, I’m super glad that the Skybridger Tumblr tag is finally gaining traction.

Ahsoka Tano stands before the three Jedi she trained, a map table between them in the empty meeting room.

It has been so long since she had time to spend with her kids! Even though it was a briefing room for a mission, Ahsoka adored seeing them again. She had been away for a long time, bringing Mon three high-profile recruits. 

The easiest to persuade, to her surprise, was Lando Calrissian. Ahsoka learned from him that he is to blame for Leia’s prosthetic, as well as Luke and Ezra’s near-brush with carbonite freezing at the hands of Darth Vader. 

To say the very least, Lando was immensely remorseful. It was for the good of a city, and Ahsoka is sure the young Jedi understood that, but Lando admits he has never met anyone quite like her trainees. Lando agreed to pledge himself to the Rebellion.

The hardest to convince was Ahsoka’s old friend, Rex. The clone trooper had been off-grid for so long that he was not eager to return to the fight. He eventually agreed when Ahsoka told him of Anakin’s children, as well as his unfortunate turn to the Dark Side. His information on the Clone Wars, so far, had been invaluable to Mon.

The wild card on Ahsoka’s list was Doctor Chelli Lona Aphra. She had met the young smuggler several times on her adventures, but she was on the opposite side. Mon, though, wanted her Imperial information, as Aphra remained largely impartial in the war. As in, she went where the credits did. Strangely, Aphra came along without much of a fight. She admitted, the truth resonating in the Force, that she is sick of working for Vader.

After Ahsoka’s recruits were integrated into the Rebellion, she was given a new mission by Mon, one that included getting back in contact with her precious kids.

Luke sits across from Ahsoka at the conference table, studying her warily. As a General, Luke is used to already knowing privileged information. It is indeed odd to have Ahsoka leading the mission when she acts without rank.

Ezra smiles at Ahsoka, expressing he is glad to see her. He even pulls her into a quick hug before sitting, brightening Ahsoka’s spirits.

Leia, too, had transformed ever since her accident. Leia no longer pestered Jedi with questions or angered easily. She simply took challenges as they came, remaining in a state of default calm when she is not assigned work.

Ahsoka says, “let me apologize for being away too long. I hope you can catch me up on the latest developments after the briefing.”

She flicks on the holo she brought. The map table expands a three-dimensional layout of a city.

“This,” Ahsoka says, “is Theed, the capital city of Naboo. As you know, it’s become a powder keg of tension between the Empire and the Rebellion. There have been shootings, raids, fires, all to cover up one thing: the fact that the Emperor is losing control of his own homeworld. This is because of a vast network of spies and informants working for Mon through a coding system.”

Luke’s gaze becomes faraway for several seconds. Ahsoka knows what he’s thinking about, and he is right.

“Some of these informants,” Ahsoka continues, “are high-profile members of the galaxy, and they are in danger of getting assassinated. They cannot, under any circumstances, get killed. So, Mon has instructed us to go to Theed and transport these informants to the Lake Country, a section of Naboo that is largely isolated and beyond the Emperor’s interest. We will then spend time there, approximately one standard month, and assess the caches of information our allies have gathered.”

Leia raises her metal hand. Ahsoka nods in permission.

“Why is Mon sending most of her Jedi on a data collecting task?” Leia asks neutrally.

Ahsoka glances at Luke, who purses his lips.

So he has not told her...Ahsoka can understand how he forgot.

Ahsoka replies, “Mon is taking every precaution, as it is an active war zone.”

Ezra raises a hand. “Is it the Naberries?”

Now Luke is forced to tell Leia. Ahsoka conceals an amused smile; she’s glad Ezra did that.

“Yes,” Ahsoka answers.

“Who?” Leia asks, whipping her head towards Ezra and Luke.

Luke inclines his head. “The Naberries are our mother’s family.”

Leia narrows her eyes. “And you didn’t tell me that, why?”

“Honestly?” Luke winces, dialling down his hearing aid. “I don’t like to think about it.”

Leia worries her lip. “Okay, makes sense.”

Ahsoka arches an incredulous eyebrow. Leia really has changed; years ago, she would have gone into a rage at the withholding of information.

“Any more questions?” Ahsoka asks.

They shake their heads.

“So,” Ahsoka leans forward, “what have I missed?”

“Well,” Ezra shares a smirk with Luke, “we never got to tell you about the change in our relationship.”

“Okayyyy…what?” Ahsoka asks.

“We’re married,” Luke says unceremoniously, “have been for a long while.”

Ahsoka blinks. “Oh.”

“You didn’t miss a ceremony or anything,” Ezra clarifies, “there’s just a signed paper.”

“Oh,” Ahsoka repeats, moving past her shock. She smiles. “I’m happy for you both.”

Ezra regards Luke. “Now everyone knows. The game is over.”

“It would seem so,” Luke says carefully.

“Also,” Leia announces, “Yoda declared me a Knight. So, yeah.”

“Oh,” Ahsoka’s smile twitches, “wonderful.”

So she did miss a lot...the guilt eats at her.

“Well,” Ahsoka abruptly rises from her chair, “we leave on my shuttle tonight.”

Leia’s mouth opens, and Ahsoka holds up a finger. She shuts her mouth.

“Yes, Han is coming,” Ahsoka says with a wink.

She exits the conference room, concealing a snicker at Leia’s burning cheeks.

-

Ahsoka enters the modest dwelling in Theed, her trainees cloaked and staying a pace behind her. 

No one would expect this house to be owned by House Naberrie, a once-prominent family forced into the shadows after Padmé’s premature death.

Upon the door opening, Ahsoka is pulled into a warm hug by Pooja Naberrie. 

“Oh, it’s been years!” Pooja declares. “How wonderful! Please, come in.”

Luke steps inside the threshold immediately behind Ahsoka, followed by Ezra and Leia. Pooja closes the door and wears her kind smile.

“Who have you brought, Ahsoka?” Pooja asks.

Ahsoka nods to Luke, and he peels back his maroon hood.

“Oh!” Pooja grins. “Luke Organa? Is that really you?”

Luke smiles uneasily. “Hello, Senator.”

“You’ve grown up!” Pooja exclaims. “Oh, wow! You were just a little boy when we met, remember?”

“Yes,” Luke says tightly, batting his lashes to conceal shadowy memories.

“If that’s you,” Pooja smiles at a black cloak, “then that’s your guard, yes?”

Ezra reveals his face underneath the cloak. “Senator,” he greets.

“Oh, good,” Pooja says, “one left.”

“A protégé of mine,” Ahsoka explains, “Leia.”

Leia hesitantly removes her hood, and Pooja’s gaze is fixed on her for a very long moment.

Staring into those brown eyes, warm like her aunt’s used to be...studying her thick brown hair, seeing the intricate braids and wondering where this girl came from...observing her tan skin, but unmistakably pale when not under the sun’s rays...Pooja sees it all.

And she says, as if in a trance, “I apologize for staring. I-I just...you remind me of someone.”

Leia seems to realize she is looking at a copy of herself, and she smiles warily. “Hello.”

“We have a pilot waiting to take you to Varykino,” Ahsoka says, “where is everyone?”

“Ah!” Pooja calls out, “come on over!”

The Naberrie family files into the family room with bags packed. Ahsoka recognizes the old couple as Jobal and Ruwee, Padmé’s parents and the twins’ grandparents. Following them was Sola, Padmé’s older sister and Ryoo, Pooja’s older sister.

Holding Ryoo’s hand, though, was a young woman Ahsoka never met. She is lithe and frail, paling in comparison to Pooja’s beauty, which is so much like Padmé’s.

Pooja introduces her family, answering that the young woman is her daughter, Lola. Ahsoka conceals her surprise; the child’s existence was hidden from both the Empire and the Rebellion.

The family is ushered onto Ahsoka’s shuttle, and she walks into the cockpit. Han glances over his shoulder as she sits in the copilot’s seat. “Are we ready?”

“Yes,” Ahsoka replies, “to Varykino.”

————

Varykino is the only place on Naboo that gives Luke fond memories. He recalls when Lola was a little girl and he taught her how to play piano. Lola, who is now grown, says she still plays because of his teachings.

‘You’ll have to reteach me,’ Luke admits, ‘I’ve forgotten how to play.’

Lola agrees to lessons, and Luke chooses to hope beyond hope he can fulfill the promise.

Luke is unsure if he should tell the Naberries about his parentage. But it is Mon’s ulterior motive: for him to remember the family members that still live, as distant as they are from him.

Pooja immediately grasps Luke’s hands once they have a moment and murmurs, ‘I wanted to get in contact with you after Alderaan, but I couldn’t risk being found out.’

Luke nods slowly in understanding. 

‘Bail was one of the greatest friends I’ve ever had,’ Pooja says, ‘and so was Breha.’

Luke purses his lips to prevent from showing emotion; he likes to know people before he starts blubbering. ‘I know,’ he says, quiet as a whisper.

Pooja retracts her hands from his, and that is the end of the conversation.

Luke is approached by every member of the family offering late condolences or remarking about what great people his adopted parents were, how they didn’t deserve it and should have been honored properly, but the lack of bodies making that impossible. He drowns in sorrow by the end of it, and he is glad when they touch down in Varykino.

The house had not changed, and Jobal remarked it is rarely used anymore. 

They scatter to settle in, and Luke plops beside his sister, who hadn’t spoken a word for the entire short flight.

Leia sits in a wall nook below a crystalline arched window, knees pulled up to her chest. Luke wants to ask about Han, where he is, but he is unsure where Han and Leia stand.

Luke mimics her stance on the nook and waits.

“This is so fucking weird,” Leia mutters, chin resting on her knees.

Luke smiles amusedly. “You’re absolutely right.”

“What do we even,” Leia asks, “say? What do we even do? Nothing? Something?”

Luke rests his arms on his knees, pressing his cheek against his cloaked shoulder. “We were brought here for a reason,” he says, “so the answer, I suppose, is to do something.”

“What, though?” Leia huffs. “Show them the birth certificate? I don’t think they’ll believe us.”

“We can stick out our arms and let them take our blood.”

“Yikes,” Leia grimaces, “you think they’ll want a DNA test? I hate needles.”

“Me too,” Luke admits, “but I don’t know. They either take it on our word and our evidence, or we’re getting needles stuck in us.”

Leia laughs, albeit nervously. “You’re a weird dude, Luke. Weirder than your husband.”

Luke grins proudly. “Speaking of which,” he climbs out of the nook, “I should make sure he didn’t break anything expensive.”

Leia snorts. “I’m sure something will,” she winks, “break some other way.”

“Wow,” Luke blinks, “and commenting on my thriving sex life isn’t weird?”

Leia laughs as Luke flushes. “I just like that one of us is happy.”

As if realizing what she said, Leia ducks her head as her expression downcasts.

Luke murmurs, “you won’t know until you leap.”

Leia purses her lips. She does not reply, but her glistening eyes tell him that she understands.

Luke spins around. He walks down the hallway, entering one of the many spare rooms in the house.

He shuts the door behind him, catching Ezra sprawled out on their bed with his eyes closed.

“Really?” Luke snorts. “We have a formal dinner to prepare for. Get up.”

Ezra grumbles, flopping his arms and legs around. “But this bed is soooo commmfyyyyyy!” He whines.

“We have a mission,” Luke reminds him, stepping towards the bed and swatting at Ezra’s leg.

Ezra pouts and pushes himself up using his palms. “We have time before then.”

“Not really.” Luke makes to leave the bed and open the closet.

He barely takes a step before Ezra grasps Luke’s wrist. Luke stiffens and whirls back around.

Ezra criss-crosses on the mattress, his head tipping up to regard Luke. “What are you so worried about?”

Luke frowns; Ezra reads him so well it’s unbelievable.

“What do you think?” Luke sighs.

Ezra lifts Luke’s wrist up, pressing a kiss to the back of Luke’s hand.

Luke ducks his head to hide a deepening blush. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You don’t think that,” Ezra says with a smile. “I promise you’ll be fine. They’ll love having you and Leia in the family.”

“If they believe us,” Luke emphasizes.

“These are good people, Luke,” Ezra assures him. “You sense it just as I do.”

Luke says nothing. He slips his hand away from Ezra’s grip, turning to open the closet. He pulls a white dress shirt from a hanger, black slacks hanging next to it.

The sheets shift, socks pad over carpet, and Ezra tucks his chin over Luke’s head. 

“We are safe,” Ezra murmurs, wrapping his arms around Luke’s waist from behind, “we are in one of the most beautiful places in the galaxy.” Luke huffs and settles into Ezra’s chest, the hanger dangling from his fingers. “This is the closest to a vacation we’ve gotten since our marriage. Don’t you want to make the most of it?”

Luke tips his head against Ezra’s shoulder, studying his husband’s reflection in the mirror. “You’re right. I’m a bit moody. I shouldn’t freak out so much.”

“Exactly,” Ezra says, pressing a kiss to Luke’s hair. “Take a breath with me.”

Luke inhales through his nose, hearing Ezra do the same. They release the air at the same time, united for the slightest seconds.

“There,” Ezra smiles wanly, “better?”

Luke hums. “I still have to dress, though. And so do you.”

Ezra steps back, hands slipping from Luke’s middle. “Go ahead,” he winks, “strip.”

Luke plucks a tie from the closet and smacks Ezra’s forearm with it. Ezra laughs.

-

Luke takes his place around the dining table. He studies who sits where, positions being the most important for this formal engagement.

Luke sits in the middle on the left side of the table. To his right is Ezra, always Ezra, who looks rather fetching in black silk. To his left is his sister, Leia fidgeting uncomfortably in a red cocktail dress, hair pulled back in a massive braid; he is surprised she agreed to even wear the dress. At the end of the table, Han sits on Leia’s opposite side, shockingly handsome in a classic suit. On Ezra’s opposite side, closest to the head of the table, is Ahsoka, wearing an ivy green tube top and khaki jodhpurs.

The head of the table, against the family tradition of putting the eldest in the seat, is Pooja, wearing a floral sundress. Across from Ahsoka is Jobal, wearing a navy glittering dress shirt and slacks. Across from Ezra is Ruwee in a beige tunic and pants, who offers him a nervous smile, which Ezra returns. Across from Luke is Lola, who glances at him shyly in a light pink shift dress, hair braided to one side of her face. Across from Leia is Sola, who observes Leia with interest in a high-collared checkerboard dress. And across from Han is Ryoo, who peers at the contents of the table with a keen eye in a lakewater blue wrap dress.

The food is served by a hired staff, and Luke senses no malice in any of them as they depart to the kitchens. With his suspicions of being poisoned taken care of, Luke eats modestly. Leia and Han struggle, but since Luke taught them formalities, they follow his lead.

“Now,” Jobal pipes up, “I’d like to know you all better before we dive into our findings.”

Oh. No.

“We are an open book,” Ahsoka says unhelpfully.

“We know what that means,” Ryoo mutters, “we won’t like everything we hear.”

Oh, that’s definitely right. Luke knows it, and Leia sends him a discreet glance to show she knows it too.

This does not deter Jobal. “Let’s start with the pilot. How long have you worked for the Rebellion?”

Luke catches Leia’s jaw jump. She clamps on her tongue to prevent speaking for Han, stomping on the need to shield him from scrutiny.

“Almost six years, ma’am,” Han replies, bowing his head as if addressing royalty.

The gesture of respect is a wonderful touch, though.

“One of Mon’s smugglers, I see,” Jobal says neutrally. “And how about you, young lady?” Her attention fixes on Leia. “How long have you been in the Rebellion?”

Leia curbs her instinct to start answering in curse words. She was the farthest thing from a refined lady Luke has ever met, and he loves that about her.

Leia replies calmly, “I joined at the same time as Han. That would be about six years for me too, ma’am.”

“I suppose I must address the bantha in the room,” Jobal says. “You look Nubian. Are you Nubian?”

Leia immediately reaches for Luke’s hand underneath the table. She squeezes it, then pulls it away.

Luke was not expecting such a gesture of fear. How is it that Leia can face a horde of gundarks and not even quiver with fear, but a formal dinner party makes her tremble?

“Half,” Leia says, “I am half Nubian, but I was not raised here.”

“Where were you raised, then?” Pooja asks conversationally.

“Tatooine,” Leia answers.

And the room falls silent.

Leia does not so much as squirm. She studies the reactions and does nothing besides glance at Luke. Says nothing.

A pin could drop in this dining room usually full of clattering silverware, and it would be louder than any fork against a glass, any knife slicing venison on a floral plate, any boot knocking against a wooden table leg.

“That’s impossible,” Sola says. “Hear me, Mom. Dad. Girls. It’s impossible.”

Leia arches an eyebrow. “Is it?”

That gets every Naberrie to stare at her in varying states of shock. She glances at Luke again.

“Why do you keep looking at Luke?” Ryoo asks. “That’s the fifth time in five-”

She gasps.

“-minutes,” she exhales, clapping a hand over her mouth. 

Her eyes widen, and she looks between Leia and Luke.

“Holy Shiraya,” Ryoo muffles, “there are two of you!”

Jobal scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the girl that looks like my Padmé, not the boy.”

“The boy,” Ruwee points out, “looks like him.”

The Naberrie women stare at Ruwee. He shrugs and smiles sheepishly.

“Do you want me to lie?” Ruwee mumbles. “I won’t. Not to them.”

Luke receives their scrutiny next, and Ezra scoots his chair closer for support. Luke pales when the weight of Ruwee’s words hit him.

So he does look like Anakin Skywalker…

That’s disturbing.

It is Pooja who rises from the table, smoothing out her skirts, and plucks a framed holo from a shrine. While her back is turned, she asks, “have either of you seen a picture of your parents together?”

Luke and Leia glance at each other. They shake their heads as Pooja catches the motion.

She glides to their end of the table. “This is the only one, and the proof is irrefutable.”

The golden lace frame is propped between Luke and Leia’s seat, where a colored hologram, which cost an excess of credits to acquire, was captured for public display.

The holo was taken in the flower fields right outside of the Theed house. It was during a picnic of some sort, a plaid blanket and basket on the grass. A little girl, which must be Ryoo or Pooja, was caught mid-leap as the young couple was caught mid-laugh.

The man wore a brown tunic and a Padawan braid in his sandy hair. His cheeks are ruddy from laughter, his crinkled eyes and dimples looking at the little girl.

Anakin Skywalker, now known as Darth Vader.

The woman wore a powder blue crop top and sailor pants, curly chocolate hair pulled back by a headband showing off the beauty marks on her beaming face.

Padmé Naberrie-Amidala, beside his father. A carefree coupling.

Leia stiffens, and Luke figures she is imagining the little girl as little her. What could have been.

“Look at them,” Pooja projects to her family. “The resemblance is unmistakable. Padmé was carrying twins, and they were separated until adulthood.” As she swipes the holo and returns to her seat, she asks Luke, “am I wrong?”

Luke shakes his head. “You’re not.”

An exhale falls over the dining room at the confirmation that they didn’t want to, but needed to hear.

Ezra reaches out and clasps Luke’s free hand underneath the table.

The danger is over now. They knew. They could choose to do what they will with the knowledge.

Pooja’s head swivels to Ahsoka. “You knew all of this, didn’t you?”

Ahsoka nods curtly. “They needed to be protected above all else. I apologize if this breaches your trust in me.”

“It doesn’t,” Pooja says. “We all do what we must.”

“Now that you know everything-”

But Ahsoka is interrupted.

“What about you?” Jobal nudges her head to Ezra. “You’re not just a guard, are you?”

Luke glances fearfully at Ezra. He didn’t expect such hostility, but he knows what Ezra will do to combat it.

“Mother,” Sola says tiredly, “that’s enough for one night, don’t you think?”

“No,” Jobal narrows her eyes at Ezra, “this one keeps secrets. He hasn’t spoken once.”

“Neither has Lola,” Ryoo says, “and you don’t fault her, do you?”

“Of course not,” Jobal says smoothly, “but I would be privileged to hear this young man verbalize an answer.”

Ezra arches a brow, and pointedly brings Luke’s hand to his lap.

“Why, I’m Luke’s husband, Ezra Bridger,” he says breezily, “hello.”

The table falls into silence once again.

Luke has to stifle a laugh at their flabbergasted faces. Leia and Han are having trouble masking smirks as well.

Ezra stares back, batting his lashes lazily.

“Okay,” Pooja asks warily, “you know how this looks, right?”

“A prince taking his bodyguard as a concubine?” Ezra shrugs. “Yes. I can see how you see that.”

Ahsoka, Han, and Leia wince; it is a viewpoint none of them had considered before, but it is one both Luke and Ezra entertained.

“Can we be done with the dramatics?” Ezra asks boldly. “You know us now.”

Jobal hums. “You have some nerve.”

Ezra simply stares, refusing to bend. 

Jobal smirks. “I like that in a person.”

“Oh, good,” Ezra says flippantly, leaning back in his chair and running his thumb along Luke’s hand.

Luke fights the urge to lay Ezra against the table and make out with him in front of everyone. A confident Ezra is the best Ezra.

Jobal says, “alright, then. Girls, tell them what we know.”

Pooja straightens in her seat at the head of the table. “The Emperor is constructing a second Death Star in the Endor system.”

Luke bristles, and Leia glances at him worriedly. 

“I don’t think I can blow this one up too,” Leia mutters.

Everyone hears it.

“You,” Sola asks incredulously, “destroyed the Death Star?”

Leia smiles tightly. “Yes.”

“Well, damn,” Ryoo smirks, “awesome.”

“That’s where the Emperor’s been all this time,” Ahsoka realizes, “making a final grab.”

“It truly is a final grab,” Pooja says, “his power wanes.”

“We see an end to the war,” Sola predicts, “and it is to destroy the Death Star before construction is complete.”

“When will it be completed?” Ahsoka asks.

“Next year,” Sola replies. “We have time, but we must act.”

Sola nods to Ryoo, and she pulls out a holo from the folds of her dress. She sets it down and flicks it on.

The Death Star plans are cast over the table, the monstrosity having already been half-built. They all stare up at it.

“They moved the space station’s weakness to its core,” Ryoo explains. “A starship can still get through. However, the trench is so thin and wide that there is little room for error on the pilot’s part. And,” she pauses, “there is a good chance that the pilot won’t escape the trench if they were to blast the core.”

That was it, then. A sacrifice for the good of the Rebellion. For the good of the galaxy.

Knowing his friends, Luke is sure that one of many of them would fight over who makes the sacrifice.

“One death over dozens on the first run,” Leia says, “is much better odds than the first time.”

“You sound like your brother’s protocol droid,” Han mutters.

The plans flicker off, and Ryoo rises to her feet, holo in hand. She rounds the table, gazes watching her, and she places the holo directly into Ahsoka’s palm.

“Get this to Mon however you can,” Ryoo says, “and quickly. After that, you are welcome to stay here while we go over the rest of our data in the coming days.”

————

Leia changes into an airy purple tunic and black leggings, her dress having been itching at her bare legs. She unpacks a shawl as well, adding a fleece blanket to curl into; the night air was growing cold, and she will never be used to chilly climates.

Leia makes to close the curtain, but someone on the shared balcony stops her.

Unsure of what possesses her at this moment, she pads to her door and rounds the frame. A hallway was adjacent to her room and the one next to it, leaving space for a wooden door. She walks to it and opens the old door, the chill combated by her blanket. She steps over the threshold and onto the mosaic terrace.

Han glances over his shoulder. He is not wearing his suit anymore either, choosing a blue shirt and tight smuggler pants. The product was washed out of his hair, leaving strands sticking up like a bird’s.

Leia shuffles next to him on the brick inlay balcony, bouquets of roses placed atop the finishing stone in ornate ceramic vases.

“Hey,” Han steps away, “I can go, if you want time alone.”

“No,” Leia snorts, “not like I own this balcony or anything.”

Han steps forward again, observing Leia uncertainly. “Okay, then.”

Leia looks over the balcony. It is getting dark, so she can only catch the glittering quality to the nearby lake.

“So that was,” Han searches for the word, “brutal.”

“Hah,” Leia examines the pastel-toned roses, “a heat wave on Tatooine is brutal. This, not so much.”

“It’s a different kind of brutal,” Han says, “it’s the scariest kind of brutal, the kind you don’t recognize until after.”

Leia purses her lips. “I suppose we disagree, but that’s nothing new.”

“Hah,” he says, “you’re right.”

Leia turns around abruptly. She is level with Han’s height, but she steps towards him anyway.

The changes in Han Solo had been slow, but noticeable. Han evolved since they met: he has a conscience about smuggling where he once had none, he is brave without being cocky anymore, he does things because it makes her happy.

And Han is kind-hearted, his jaded steel cage completely gone, crumbled to dust because of her.

It is clear, now, that Han Solo loves her. Maybe he has always loved her, but was too shy to say.

“I have to ask you something,” Leia says calmly, “and I need the truth. No hesitation.”

“Okay,” Han says, voice carried away by the air.

Leia studies the scar on Han’s chin, the hesitant set of his mouth that results in one side curving down, the tinge in his cheeks and a kaleidoscope of colors in Han’s eyes, visible even in the muted balcony lights.

“Are you in love with me?” She breathes.

Han computes the question, really computes it. The question goes through his brain, his body freezing for the slightest second.

He comes back to himself, breathing to answer.

“Yes,” Han replies.

Leia hums. “I thought so. Well,” she flushes, “it’s a good thing I like you. Who you’ve become, I mean.”

“Thanks?” Han says dazedly.

The way he looks at her…it warms her from head to toe.

“Now,” Leia asks measuredly, “you won’t run away if I kiss you?”

Han shakes his head, a smile forming on his face.

“Good,” Leia leans in, remembering all the farmboys and kitchen girls she kissed, how they dull in comparison to the way Han’s lashes flutter as she gets close, “that’s good.”

Han swallows her final syllable, and Leia cups his face. Han relinquishes control, winding his arms around her middle. Leia hears him sigh into each peck, molding and melting into her every movement.

Han clutches Leia’s blanket, and Leia eases away.

Leia’s descent from the clouds is smooth and soft. Han’s pupils are wide, and he breathes raggedly. His lips are swollen, and he does not know whether to look at her mouth or her eyes.

“Where’d you learn to kiss like that?” Han exhales.

Leia smiles. “Neither of us are innocent.”

“True,” Han pants, “but I don’t care.”

“Me neither,” Leia says.

And so Leia kisses Han again.

————

“Uh...why are you naked?”

Ezra smirks as Luke slips under the sheets. He lays on his side, staring at Luke amidst the pockets of darkness.

“Why aren’t you?” Ezra counters.

Luke snorts, crossing his arms over his pajamas as he lies down. “Is that your way of trying to seduce me?”

Ezra hides half of his face in the pillow, worrying his lip. His hair casts a curtain over his jawline, reaching his collarbone. “Is that a no, then?”

Luke frowns, shifting on his side. “I don’t know. It wouldn’t be proper.”

Ezra giggles into his pillow. “Leia and Han don’t seem to care about ‘proper’ right now. Why should we?”

Luke senses it too, Ezra knows. 

Luke clenches his jaw. “That’s worrisome.”

“Worrisome?” Ezra snorts. “Please. You know they’ve been making eyes at each other for years. It was bound to happen eventually. Why not here?”

Luke wants to argue, wants to say the same thing Ezra does. That they are on the Emperor’s doorstep, and they had to be careful.

But the Emperor isn’t here. His home is left abandoned. Why not have fun while he’s away?

Luke follows his train of thought. It is as simple as delving into the Force and reading his mind; Ezra always, always allows it. They hide nothing from each other.

Luke wavers, Ezra feels it. His need to be the leader, to be the responsible General, wavers.

He wavers, and he trembles.

And Ezra grins. “There’s my love.”

Luke exhales deeply through his mouth. “There I go again. Worrying too much. You’re right.”

Ezra hums. “Aren’t I always?”

Luke smiles, his sunshine aura returning from an exhaustive mist. “Just when I think I’ve lost myself in the noise,” his dimples and eyes shine, “you remind me of who I am. I love you.”

“And I love that you daydream about making out with me on dinner tables,” Ezra says coyly.

Luke cocks his head to the side. His eyes darken, a thrill running through Ezra at the surprising reaction, and he smirks. “I suppose I didn’t shield that as well as I should have.”

Ezra holds back laughter, but it spills over into his tone. “I don’t think the others noticed, but I love that you didn’t care even if they did.”

Rather than continue the verbal flirtation, Luke’s hands come up to unbutton his pajama shirt. Ezra arches a brow as skin is revealed. 

Luke eases off his pajamas while sitting up in bed, tossing the shirt and skirting the pants to the floor. “There,” he says, sheets rustling over his lap, “we’re both sleeping in the nude tonight.”

“Just sleeping?” Ezra teases.

Luke rolls his eyes. “I’ll think about it.”

“Oh?” Ezra stares at Luke eagerly. “Then tell me when you know. I’ll be right here. Naked. Waiting. Naked and waiting.”

Luke snorts. “You’re insatiable.”

“Well,” Ezra smirks, “no one told you to be so good in bed, Luke Organa.”

Luke narrows his glittering eyes and peers down at Ezra. “We take a risk,” he mumbles, lowering his head a little, “every time we do this.”

Ezra senses the change in his husband, the sunspot plaguing his aura. He bites his lip and bobs his head with solemness.

“We do,” he parses, sitting up and untangling his legs from the sheets. Luke stares, his arms shifting to secure the rippling duvet on his lap, and Ezra uses it to his advantage. “I know we do. But we have a deal: if it happens, I would be overjoyed.” Ezra’s aura bubbles at the thought, smiling at Luke’s discomfort and desire. “I don’t think you understand how ecstatic it would make me, Luke, even now. Even in war.”

Luke meets Ezra’s eyes. “I can’t go a moment without worrying, it seems. I’m sorry. I...I just don’t want us to-”

“Worry?” Ezra prompts in amusement. “If it happens on this trip, we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Luke stares at him, roves over Ezra’s body. Ezra still senses hesitation lingering there, so he says what pops into his head:

“Even if you were married to some prince and you were the king, I would have offered myself to you.”

Luke blinks, but the words hit where it counts. His breath hitches, and his gaze shifts to an even darker blue hue; it is intoxicating to watch his husband unravel. “Okay...where is this going?”

Ezra winks. “Where do you think?”

Luke inhales sharply and looks away, shaking his head. “You’re so much work, Ezra Bridger.”

“Good, I’m glad,” Ezra says haughtily. “Someone needs to get you back on track anyway! Wasn’t there something saucy you wanted to do at dinner?”

Luke bites his lip and fails to hold back chuckles. “Maybe you should have been the Senator.”

Ezra blanches. “Luke Organa, I swear if you don’t stop overthinking and pin me to this bed, I’m sleeping on the balcony.”

“Ohhhkayyyyyy,” Luke draws out, huffing in a false display, “you win.”

Ezra barely has time to grin before Luke is there, both tumbling back into the pillows while his hands coax Ezra into a dizzying kiss. Ezra gladly forgets everything except for Luke, Luke, Luke.


	19. Age 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, don’t despair,” a voice soothes, “you’ve been given joyous news.”
> 
> Ezra’s sleep-addled mind is placed in the middle of a desert. Sand dunes as far as the eye could see. The only dwelling is a lone igloo colored beige.
> 
> The voice shapes into a person. An old bearded man clad in brown robes.
> 
> “War only crushes the spirit if one lets it,” the ghost of Obi-Wan Kenobi says. “Even Luke is susceptible to bouts of doubt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve decided I’m making a sequel to this AU. It’s going to be a rewrite of the sequel trilogy.
> 
> Talk to me on Tumblr about Skybridger and Star Wars @toomanyfandoms99-ao3
> 
> Welcome to my dilapidated version of ROTJ. Next weekend will be a soft epilogue before I pick up the action again in the sequel.

The isolated room in the medbay smells of bacta and antiseptic. If Ezra concentrates, he can tell a surgery happened there recently. Thankfully, the reason he is in the room is not for anything that detrimental.

Ever since boarding the Falcon to the Rebellion’s new base at the edge of the Modell Sector, close to Endor, Ezra has had migraines. He has rarely been ill in his life, so Luke was notably worried.

‘As soon as we land,’ Luke said, ‘you’re going straight to a med bot. No stops on the way. Okay?’

Ezra readily agreed, slipping away as Luke, Leia, Ahsoka, and Han were mobbed by officers. He is sure that those who were there for him were suspicious of his departure, but he couldn’t worry about it at the moment.

The door slides open, and the medical droid enters with a datapad. It is programmed with a soothing female voice, and wheels over to Ezra’s position on the bed.

“Your migraines are a result of a much larger diagnosis,” the droid says.

The datapad shows the results of Ezra’s blood test. Ezra cannot understand the complex charts.

“You have an excess of hormones in your circulation,” the droid reports, “which can only draw one conclusion.”

The screen is swiped, and Ezra examines the hormones traveling towards his lower regions.

Oh.

“Congratulations,” the droid says cheerily, “you are one month pregnant.”

Delight bubbles up Ezra’s insides, and he smiles. “I am?” He breathes, emitting a giggle. “Really?”

Ezra’s secret wish has come true. He’s going to have Luke’s child! His husband’s baby!

His heart soars; it was his greatest hope that their nights at Varykino would prove fruitful. Ezra remembers one night in particular more than the others, a night where they danced slow, wrapped up in each other. Luke usually drank wine before dancing for courage, but he was completely sober as he brought Ezra to the middle of the floor after successfully recounting an Alderaanian piano solo. Everyone was watching or dancing themselves, but Luke didn’t care. They swayed to Lola’s symphony on the piano, Ezra ensnared by Luke’s attentiveness. 

It was all so easy when they were together, uninterrupted by alarms and issues from superior officers. When they are just them, completely at peace, that is what makes Ezra truly happy.

It is no surprise that they wind up intertwined later that night, completely unbothered and uncaring about anything else but each other. Their coupling is more passionate than most of their encounters, either rushed due to a problem requiring their immediate attention or a spell to be broken a few short hours later by a poorly-timed holo call.

That night of dancing was special, and so was their lazy morning. Ezra rarely gets to sink into the bed and bask in the feel of Luke’s fingerprints still there, still all over him, still marking him as Luke Organa’s, but also marking him as Ezra Bridger, the man who is privileged to have married his best friend.

An inkling of a feeling settled in Ezra’s stomach. He had passed it off as the heat, the warmth that always settled in his stomach after they made love. 

It was more than that. Ezra didn’t see it then, didn’t feel it yet, but it is there, now. 

It is a sign of life.

“Migraines are a normal symptom for your species,” the droid informs him. “They will go away as you enter your second month.”

Lothalian pregnancies last a standard year. The stages of symptoms will only worsen, but Ezra doesn’t care. He’s having Luke’s baby! He gets to have this!

“After your mission,” the droid instructs, “I expect a return visit to monitor your baby’s vitals. By then, I should be able to detect a heartbeat.”

Ezra grins at his stomach. “I will. Thank you.”

The medical droid sends him away with a list of what to eat and what to avoid as his baby begins to develop. 

Ezra’s everything was so elated that he nodded along with no questions.

He left the medbay with a stupid smile on his face, but it only took a minute for his contentment to wear off.

Mon catches his eye, walking in a rush. “Oh, good. You’re here. Come with me.”

Ezra scampers forward, his smile falling into a crushing frown.

Mon notices it, and she huffs, “is everything alright?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ezra says neutrally.

The weight of responsibility crushes his heart. It is how Luke feels every day, all the time, especially now that they are back to reality.

There is a war to win. Ezra’s fairytale ending will not happen until an entire regime collapses.

“Come, then,” Mon says, and Ezra enters the throng of marching officers.

-

“Oh, don’t despair,” a voice soothes, “you’ve been given joyous news.”

Ezra’s sleep-addled mind is placed in the middle of a desert. Sand dunes as far as the eye could see. The only dwelling is a lone igloo colored beige.

The voice shapes into a person. An old bearded man clad in brown robes.

“War only crushes the spirit if one lets it,” the ghost of Obi-Wan Kenobi says. “Even Luke is susceptible to bouts of doubt.”

Ezra narrows his eyes, twin suns setting off in the distance. “Shouldn’t you talk to Luke, then?”

“I would think so,” Kenobi says, a glint in his blue eyes, “but the atoms in your womb seem to think otherwise.”

Ezra glances down at his flat stomach. He dismisses the idea instantly. “No.” He shakes his head forcefully at Obi-Wan. “That’s impossible.”

“Two Force sensitives, in all the galaxy’s history, have never had a child together,” Kenobi says. “There is no such thing as impossible where this is concerned, especially considering how powerful you both are in the Force.”

“Me?” Ezra asks weakly. “Luke’s the strong one.”

“But it is your lightsaber,” Kenobi points out, “that is yellow, strength in the Light. And sometimes,” he pulls back his hood, revealing a wizened face, “there is strength in doing very little, when everything else in your body seeks to do otherwise.”

Ezra frowns. “You’re telling me that the end is near.”

“To the war,” Kenobi clarifies, “certainly.”

“The end is near,” Ezra says bitterly, “and I am not a part of destiny’s grand plan.”

“You are the After’s grand plan,” Kenobi emphasizes. “It is now your chief honor to carry the Force’s will.”

“Child,” Ezra snaps, “a being made by Luke and me. If that’s what you mean by ‘Force’s will.’”

“The Force’s will comes in the form of your child,” Kenobi corrects, “who will bring peace to the galaxy.”

Ezra grits his teeth. He has always known this was coming. It was the twins that had to tear down the Empire; it was their birthright. He is on the sidelines.

Kenobi is right. This goes against everything he wants to do. He wants to duel Vader and the Emperor alongside his husband and his sister and whoever else decided to join in. But if he does, he risks everything. Ezra could easily be used as a pawn against Luke, especially if they sensed the baby.

The thought has him simmering. Ezra growls, an instinct to protect and destroy those who threaten his child rising from deep within him, “you are fortunate that I am not foolish enough to put my baby in danger. I will step aside for that reason, not yours, and definitely not the Force’s.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi says nothing.

“And if you think you can bring Luke and Leia into a possible slaughterhouse alone,” Ezra snorts, “you have another thing coming, dude. At least one of two Masters are going in my stead, you better believe it. So there.”

Ezra feels like a child having a stomping tantrum. But he doesn’t regret a word of it; if he can’t protect his husband in person, he will do anything to bring him back in one piece.

“Duly noted, Ezra Bridger,” Kenobi says with a nod.

As if being plucked from a bowl of fruit, Ezra stirs at sunrise. He is on the Ghost, which shuttles every member of Ezra’s expansive family to Endor. All hands had to be on deck for the final major assault against the Emperor.

Ezra’s jerking motion causes Luke to awaken beside him in the cot. Luke’s arms reel Ezra close, lashes fluttering as he studies Ezra lazily.

“Are you alright?” Luke mumbles.

Ezra does not know where to begin, how to tell Luke about the baby without causing irreparable damage to the prophecy, so he simply musters a smile. “Yes.”

Luke does not believe him, but he does not press for more information.

Ezra wouldn’t know what to say even if he did.

————

With Ezra lost in the lush jungles of Endor and Luke despondent, Han Solo is put in an odd position.

He had to be...shudder...responsible.

Since Leia is absent too, checking in on the little green guy, Han is left in charge amidst Luke’s worrywart personality. It is insufferable.

Luke Organa is insufferable without Ezra Bridger.

“This can’t have happened,” Luke talks to himself as they tear through dangling tree branches and underbrush, “I’m dreaming. Yes. That’s the reason we’re going in circles and I can’t goddamn sense my kriffing husband.”

Not even Threepio or Chewbacca could calm him down. That’s when Han knows Luke is...bad. Very bad.

Han takes a stab at talking to him. “You can try a different tactic.”

Luke stops. Completely stops.

And he turns to address Han. “What?” He hisses, eyes blazing.

“Pick out a life form. Any life form besides us,” Han offers, splaying out his hands to gesture at the forest, “there has to be something here.”

Luke frowns, deep in thought. Chewbacca pats Han on the shoulder.

“Okay,” Luke exhales, “okay. I can do this.”

He shuts his eyes, head tilted towards the partly cloudy sky. The sun shines on Luke’s face, a symbol of divinity among Han’s people on Corellia, but Luke is unbothered by the heat.

Luke’s blond eyelashes flutter open a moment later, his head leveling to face Han. “That was a good one, Han. Now follow me.”

Han smiles. “Huh. Thanks, Luke.” He nudges Chewbacca’s massive arm. “See that? I’m smart sometimes.”

Chewbacca roars in the negatory, and Threepio comments that it’s rude.

Luke leads them directly into a pack of native hunters. Luke, the weirdo, instantly sits down on the forest floor to reach their level. 

Undeterred by the wooden spears being pointed at all of them, Luke calls Threepio over to translate. The teddy bear natives, which Threepio calls Ewoks, instantly bow to the protocol droid.

Han busts out laughing, and Threepio somehow gets them tied up. They carry Threepio in on a chair, while Han, Luke, and Chewbacca are nearly roasted on spits in their village.

Their savior, to Han’s surprise, is Ezra.

“Calm down, everyone,” Ezra projects, “these are my friends! My family!”

After a moment of contemplation, flames licking at Han’s camouflage jacket, The Ewoks listen and untie them. Han falls into a smoking lumber pit and gapes openly.

Ezra wears a beige tunic and brown leggings, his hair braided back from his face. His japor snippet hangs from his neck, and his bronze skin seems to glow in the afternoon light.

Luke runs into Ezra’s arms and proceeds to kiss him so indecently that Han is scandalized. And he never gets scandalized!

Han crawls out of the lumber pit and stumbles to his feet, shaking out leftover fumes on his jacket. Chewbacca yowls his frustrations and brushes wood chips from his fur.

Han walks over to the wood paneling signaling a walking path. “Uhhhh, can you both be done now?”

Luke strokes Ezra’s scarred cheek, staring deeply into his eyes. Ezra clears his throat to get Luke to address Han.

“Right,” Luke untangles his gaze from Ezra’s flushed face with notable difficulty, “okay. We need to get everyone else here.”

“I already commed the Ghost,” Ezra says, “and Leia is with them. And…”

Luke studies Ezra concernedly at the lengthy pause. “What?”

“Yoda’s gone,” Ezra replies quietly.

Luke sighs in sympathy. “That’s awful.”

Han says awkwardly, “well, at least we befriended the natives.”

“Me and Threepio,” Ezra corrects, “befriended the natives.”

Han grimaces. “Right. Yes.”

The next hour is spent listening to Threepio explain their story to the Ewoks. The natives agree to help after some truly stellar convincing by Ezra, who the Ewoks adore for a reason Han can’t discern.

The Ghost freighter lands outside the village, and Leia is wearing black. She grieves.

Han sits with her with nary a word spoken between them. He doesn’t know what to say, anyway.

Leia, after an hour of this behavior, tips her cheek against her shoulder and breathes into him. Han deems it safe to kiss Leia’s hair, and her mouth falls into a frown.

“If I don’t make it out of this,” she says, “please know that I love you.”

Han is crushed by a weight he cannot determine the circumference of; it stunts his oxygen and blood flow.

Nevertheless, Han says, “I love you too.”

————

“You know what we have to do, right?”

Luke clenches his jaw. “I do.”

The sun had set on the Ewok village, and the assault on the main Imperial base is underway. Kanan, Hera, Sabine, Zeb, and Chopper were on the job, with little Jacen being cared for by Shara and her son, Poe. Kes, Rex, and Winter were responsible for another ground assault, with Doctor Aphra in charge of explosives. Meanwhile, Raymus, Wedge, Evaan, and Lando were charged with managing aerial attacks on the Death Star.

In the village, it was up to Han, Ezra, Ahsoka, the droids, and the twins to manage the area.

But Luke knows what his destiny is; he remembers Yoda telling him about his role in the Empire’s destruction. ‘To snuff out the Dark.’

Leia knows her role as well, though she will never speak it aloud.

The bridge Luke’s arms dangle over gives way to wooden huts atop trees and a gorgeous starry sky. He wears black, as does Leia, to prepare for the attack no one will see coming. 

“I already told Han,” Leia says, “and he has no choice but to accept it. Now it’s your turn.”

Luke lowers his head and sighs. Loose hairs tickle his cheek, falling out of his messy bun.

“I hated doing it too,” Leia says softly, “so just get it done. You’ll see him after.”

Oh, the Uncertain After. Luke does not want to tell her that he expects to die.

So Luke nods, locking his agony in a box, and leaves the bridge. He walks the vast network of tree huts and wooden extensions, sensing Ezra inside one of the homes.

He pokes his head inside discreetly, and Ezra catches his glimpse. He rises from the rug, excusing himself from an Ewok family’s company.

Ezra exits the hut, and Luke guides him to the middle of a bridge. Luke stares out at the stars, at the Death Star looming, still unfinished.

He says, “I have to go with Leia to end this tonight.”

Ezra’s eyeline follows his, fixating on the Death Star. “I know,” he murmurs.

Luke turns to face Ezra incredulously. “How?”

“A vision,” Ezra answers, shadows cast over his eyes. “It is meant to be you and Leia up there, but...you need to bring Ahsoka. Isn’t this her fight too?”

Luke worries his lip; he hoped Ahsoka would stay out of it, but he should have known better. “You’re right. I’m sure she will insist on coming with us.”

Suddenly, Ezra smiles, a sucker punch to Luke’s heart. “Well, if Auntie ‘Soka is there, I’ll know you’re okay. Besides, the natives like me, so I should stay. That, and,” he glances away, blushing shyly, “and I should protect us from harm.”

“Us?” Luke furrows his brows. “Don’t you mean yourself?”

Ezra grins, eyes shining, and his entire face melts.

“No,” Ezra giggles, shaking his head, “I really mean us.”

Luke grows even more confused. He squints his eyes at Ezra.

“You don’t sense it?” Ezra hums amusedly. “How about you focus on me,” he steps so close their body heat reflects off of one another, “and you look into the Force?”

Luke, as puzzled as he is, humors Ezra and shuts his eyes. He focuses on the Light that Ezra always emits in varying degrees of brightness.

And below his glowing heart, around his lower stomach, is a little Light.

Breathlessly, Luke opens his eyes and slowly, hesitantly, carefully places his palm over Ezra’s stomach.

And he huffs out a two-tone laugh, and he grins while his eyes water, and he cries and giggles and exhales to regain his normal bodily functions.

“Oh,” Luke brings their foreheads together as Ezra beams, “I love you both so much.”

Ezra smiles into every kiss Luke presses into his lips in his elation, one hand remaining on Ezra’s stomach.

Ezra is having Luke’s baby!

Luke must return to Ezra at all costs. 

At. All. Costs.

Forget sacrifice. Luke wants to live for this. He wants to live!

Ezra’s chuckles tickle Luke’s throat as he holds Luke in an embrace. Luke’s kisses become feverish, longing, desperate for more. The fire, the desire in Luke wants to stay in the village and never let go of Ezra, ever.

But he must. And Ezra must let him go, too.

That sobering thought has Luke nudging away, his hand rubbing Ezra’s stomach. Tear tracks remain on his cheeks, and he wants to cry a fresh set but doesn’t. He bites his quivering lip and inhales sharply.

Ezra reads him instantly. The resolve in his eyes causes Luke to listen intently, hardly moving.

“You come back to us,” Ezra says fiercely, “I am not doing this alone. Got me?”

Luke smiles. “I got you.”

“The Ewok prophet told me you would return,” Ezra warns, “so don’t you dare disappoint me. I swear to every god, Luke Organa, don’t you dare disappoint me.”

Luke chuckles, glancing at Ezra’s stomach, removing his hand from the spot. “Okay, Ezra Bridger.”

“Good,” Ezra breaks their embrace, eyes burning with fire as he retreats, “win the race for me, darling.”

A memory flies, of Luke zooming across the outskirts of Aldera, Raymus laughing through a comm as his landspeeder screeches over the ground. When Luke crosses the finish line, Ezra waits, cheering and jumping with a flag, laughing with his head tipped towards the sky.

‘You won for me!’ Ezra declares.

As soon as the image is there, it is gone. Luke looks out over the bridge.

“Promise,” Luke says to the night sky.

Ezra folds into the darkness, disappearing into a torchlit wood hut. 

————

Leia waits on the forest floor, blending into moonlit shadow. Her hair is divided into braids and pinned back into a coil. Her skin is pale, and her aura is foggy.

Luke approaches, a Light in the Dark. He wore the same hairstyle as Leia and similar dark clothing.

“Do you have them?” Leia asks.

Luke nods, two metal cylinders glinting from his belt. The hilts curve around his hip, hypnotic in the way Luke glides with such ease.

This is someone who has far more training and experience than her. This is someone who has been out in the real world, fighting the good fight for his entire life. This is someone who is at peace with himself and his abilities, having already mastered his preferred techniques.

Leia is glad her brother agreed to come with her.

“What of yours?” Luke asks, gaze dropping to the single hilt on Leia’s belt. “What color is it?”

“Believe it or not,” Leia says airily, “it’s purple.”

“Purple,” Luke nods, “makes sense. You are in between.”

The thought disturbs Leia. She wants to be nothing like her father, but her occasional temper says otherwise. 

“What’s this?”

The twins whirl around. Ahsoka steps out of the shadows.

“Going somewhere?” She asks, curved metal hilts around her thighs, the being Luke emulates.

“Yes,” Luke says, unsurprised at her arrival, “it ends tonight. Would you like to join us?”

Ahsoka narrows her eyes. “Who says it is tonight?”

“The ghosts,” Leia answers.

They have been all around Endor. Leia cannot sleep with them everywhere. She is happy to see Ben, of course, but they do not leave her alone.

Ahsoka studies her. “Do you both talk to ghosts often?”

Luke shrugs. “Happens more than you’d think.”

“Well, someone has to protect you both.”

“We’re adults,” Leia says.

“Are you?”

“Yes,” Luke replies curtly.

Ahsoka stares at him. “Well, I’m still coming. Shouldn’t Ezra be with you too?”

“Someone has to stay here,” Luke points out, “and the Ewoks love him.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to get him?” Ahsoka asks warily. “This is every Jedi’s fight.”

“Not really,” Luke says weakly, “not his. And he knows.”

“He let you go?!” Ahsoka inquires incredulously. “Okay, maybe you are adults.”

“We will begin by surrendering at the Imperial station,” Leia explains. “Luke will try talking, I will try fighting. Any questions?”

“Solid plan,” Ahsoka says sarcastically. “Got any more than that?”

“Of course. We’ll tell you on the way.”

“Alright, then.” Ahsoka falls into step with the twins as they leave the village.

-

Darth Vader observes the three handcuffed Jedi on the raised platform. Leia wants to voice a fiery quip, but control is everything under the circumstances.

“My children,” Vader says through a vocoder, “I see you have come to your senses. The Rebellion will be crushed soon enough.”

His boots clang on durasteel, and his mask studies Leia.

“There is much anger in you,” Vader observes, “that means you are closer to the Dark Side than I could have ever asked for.”

Leia does not move or speak.

“It hurts to hold your anger back,” Vader slithers, “I know it does. Soon, you will not have to anymore.”

Leia grits her teeth, her prosthetic arm twitching. She hates being compared to this man, so she breathes to even herself out. It goes against her every instinct, but she remembers her training with Ahsoka and complies.

“And you,” Vader studies Ahsoka, “I have been waiting for you to emerge. How dare you poison my children with the lies of the Jedi?”

“You are the one who is poisoned,” Ahsoka says measuredly. “Your children saved me. Let them save you.”

Darth Vader says nothing to her remark. He moves over to Luke. “And you,” he hisses, “you disappoint me the most. At least, I sense, you have accepted the truth: you are destined to be by my side.”

“I’ve accepted the truth that you were once Anakin Skywalker,” Luke counters, “my father.”

Vader clenches his fists by his sides, a snuffed-out tantrum before it can ignite to its fullest potential.

“Anakin Skywalker is dead,” Vader says hollowly.

“He isn’t,” Luke says breezily, “you’ve only forgotten. Search your feelings. You can’t give us up to the Emperor. I’ve sensed the conflict growing within you for years. Let go of your hate.”

Luke is right, Leia realizes in a sudden wave. Darth Vader is no toxic smoke monster in the Force; he will not hurt them, now that he knows the truth. 

Leia is not one to believe in much of anything. Even the Force has its unbelievable parts that Leia cannot fathom. But Leia believes in Luke. She believes in Ahsoka. She believes that Vader will help them.

However, Darth Vader sweeps past them, cape flowing. “The Emperor awaits you.”

Stormtroopers guide them into a metal lift, and Leia clenches her jaw.

‘Don’t lose hope,’ Luke says to her mind. ‘He will see reason. I know it.’

Leia decides to trust in her twin.

————

As the three Jedi are brought through the Death Star and before the Emperor, his surprise at Ahsoka’s emergence is palpable.

“Ahsoka Tano,” the Emperor sneers. “I thought you died during the Purges.”

“Hello, Supreme Chancellor Palpatine,” Ahsoka counters, “a lot has changed with you, it seems. You look worse by the day.”

The Emperor frowns, yellow-red eyes stabbing her through the Force. She does not flinch.

“Uncuff them, Vader,” the Emperor orders, “it is clear there will be no negotiations.”

Vader swipes his hands, and thick metal bindings fall from their wrists. Ahsoka’s eyes widen; they could end this, right now, if their lightsabers weren’t confiscated.

A side door slides open, and a guard clad in crimson royal armor enters with their lightsabers on a tray. The guard kneels before the Emperor, and his bony fingers trail across the metal.

“Well,” the Emperor says, examining Ahsoka’s twin blades first, “the Light side of the Force deems you all unique. White, green, purple.”

The Emperor’s eyes settle on Leia. “The purple belongs to you, yes?”

Leia says nothing. Ahsoka senses how much energy she exerts to wear a calm demeanor.

The Emperor examines the hilt in his hand. “This looks like your father’s lightsaber. Hm, yes. And purple...my, my. The most interesting of the sacred colors. The color of moral ambiguity, of blurred lines, of the Dark and the Light. Tell me, little girl: do you wish to live?”

Leia still says nothing.

“That’s a shame.” The Emperor sets down the lightsaber hilt. “You have more power than your father. If, perhaps, you strike him down,” his snake eyes slide over to Vader, “you will have a place by my side.”

Leia can stay silent for no longer. She bats her lashes. “You’d like me to commit patricide? How about no.”

The Emperor laughs; it is a disgusting choking sound. “How about this: you kill your father,” the Force bends violently, and Ahsoka is lifted in the air, throat closing as she chokes, “or I kill your little Master?”

Ahsoka feels herself fading. Bony invisible claws dig into her jugular, and she can barely concentrate on consciousness, let alone grasp at the Force.

How did Luke do this and escape?

She forces herself into a meditative state to delay unconsciousness, shutting her eyes and focusing on what air she could muster. 

Her name is being gasped out in panicked syllables, and that’s when Leia says, “fine.”

Ahsoka is dropped on the floor, and she coughs up a lung. Luke says her name and sits close, capturing her in a half-hug.

“You’re okay, ‘Soka, come on, get up,” Luke says frantically.

By the time Ahsoka stands again, Leia is given her lightsaber back by the Emperor. She stares down at the object in her hands, paralyzed by the limited options she has left.

Ahsoka chooses for her. She splays out her palm, and the lightsaber flies into her hand. She ignites it, hearing Luke’s “Ahsoka, no!”

“Guards!” The Emperor yells. “Subdue them!”

A dozen crimson guards carrying electric staffs advance, rounding up the three Jedi in a circle.

“Ah, shit,” Leia says unceremoniously. “You’ve got the only lightsaber.”

Ahsoka manages to send Leia a half-smile. “You don’t need weapons, remember?”

“I’ll show you,” Luke offers to Leia. “Take the Force into your hand.”

Leia trembles worriedly. “Alright, okay.” She follows Luke’s technique.

And Ahsoka leaps forward to buy them a minute, twirling Leia’s lightsaber. It makes contact with two electro-staffs, and she pushes back to gain footing. She uses the Force to buffet back half the guards. 

Luke and Leia stand back-to-back, palms raised and teeth clenched in concentration.

Before two guards could attack, they are buffeted back by the twins using the Force. Once they stumble and advance again, their staffs are snatched right from their tight grip.

Leia throws herself into the visceral fight as soon as the staff slaps into her palms. Ahsoka duels with two guards at once as she recognizes the unpredictable formations Leia makes. Ahsoka taught her most of them.

Luke, meanwhile, uses the staff so shockingly well to defend himself that Ahsoka suspects Ezra. He must have given Luke lessons on how to wield a staff at one point in their lives.

Ahsoka swipes the staffs in half with Leia’s lightsaber, two guards falling. She does the same for two more guards that rush her.

She whirls to see Luke shocking two guards with his staff, then snapping it in half. He proceeds to fight with Force-powered punches and kicks.

He has been keeping up with his combat techniques…

Leia is forceful with every hit as guards go down, and soon, Ahsoka is subduing the final guard.

A clattering of crimson armor resonates in the throne room. Luke and Leia break their staffs and Ahsoka gives Leia her lightsaber back upon shutting it off.

They stand before a circle of unconscious Imperial guards, and the Emperor laughs.

“Goodness,” his voice echoes, “what a fun display that was. I suppose I underestimated you. Now, Vader, do me a favor,” the Emperor’s face twists beneath his hood, “kill the witch.”

Darth Vader does not move. He simply stares through his plasteel mask. He is mesmerized by the sight of them panting from the battle, his grasp on the Dark slackening.

“Fine,” the Emperor rises from his throne, “I’ll kill them all myself.”

Lightning emits from his fingers, and Ahsoka cannot breathe.

The bolts make for Luke and Leia, and everyone screams.

The twins hold each other, but the bolts do not reach their destination. They are frozen in time, an inch away from Luke and Leia’s faces.

Vader exhales shakily, stepping beside Ahsoka. Both had their arms shot out in midair. Both were freezing the bolts in time.

Ahsoka stares wide-eyed at Vader beside her, and he looks back.

“Anakin,” she breathes.

Vader looks back at his children and takes another step forward. He clutches the raw energy in his fists, and he swipes his hands towards the throne.

The lightning returns to sender in a volley of power, and the Emperor collapses back on his throne from the shock.

Vader advances, and the twins are curled up together on the floor. They stare up at him like children, confused and awestruck.

Luke comes to his senses first, rising to his feet. He offers his hand, and Leia swallows a lump in her throat. Unable to look away from the pair of older Jedi, she gets to her feet.

The twins strengthen their resolve by simply sharing a glance. Their postures straighten, and they observe Vader curiously. A swoop of dizziness sends Ahsoka on a momentary tailspin; the power it took to hold back the Emperor went into her reserves.

“S-son, daughter,” Vader’s voice is tired and labored, “I c-cannot defeat him m-myself.”

“Of course you can’t,” the Emperor coughs, “you are weak, Vader. A useless shell.”

They turn to the throne, just in time for the Emperor to fire more lightning.

Leia plants her feet and ignites her lightsaber. Time slows for Ahsoka; she watches dazedly as Leia braces for impact with a shout.

The lightning crashes against her purple blade, but Leia’s feet hold fast. Her shout becomes a rallying cry, and she takes a bold step forward.

And forward, and forward.

And forward.

That spurs Vader to roar through his vocoder, a surge of adrenaline bringing him towards the Emperor’s throne. It is the roar of a father whose children are being threatened. It is the roar of the Force, wanting the twins to remain unharmed.

It is a roar that makes the entire throne room shake.

Ahsoka returns to her slowed senses, and she advances with Vader.

The Emperor uses one hand to continue the lightning, the other becoming an invisible hurricane, the kind that ruins towns and rips up their foundations with nary a brushstroke.

It is little use: the hurricane buffets them back every time they try to step forward. Vader growls through gritted teeth, and Ahsoka screams.

And then, and then!

Since the Emperor is occupied, Luke moves with his sister. Leia shoulders the weight of the lightning with her blade, and Luke gathers the Light to him, from within and without.

From every crevasse and every corner and every Jedi that ever lived, Luke gathers the Light.

Ghosts appear, voices in their heads. Voices that Ahsoka has not heard in so long that she weeps as she stands against the hurricane.

Faces of old friends swim in Ahsoka’s mind, and she knows Luke hears them, and so does Leia as she fights.

Luke moves in tandem with every step Leia takes towards the throne. Luke’s very being glows, inwardly and outwardly. 

And Ahsoka swears that his blue eyes glow, too.

Leia reaches the steps, the energy crackling and waning between her and the Emperor. She begins to yell, and Luke catches the Emperor’s attention.

The Emperor falters. His hand drops, the invisible hurricane swept away as easily as dust with a broom.

Vader and Ahsoka breathe, stop shouting.

And Luke smiles. Smiles as sweetly as a summer day. His Light is a supernova, one primed to explode.

The Emperor shrinks in his chair. “Get away from me! You sniveling disappointment of a prince! Get away!”

His other hand drops, and the lightning fizzles out. Leia pants heavily and stares incredulously at Luke.

Luke beams as pure as a child. “The Light isn’t so bad. Come on. Surrender. It’s only my namesake.”

“No! No!” The Emperor curls up in his chair like denying medicine. “Stay away from me!”

“Now, I can’t do that,” Luke’s eyes glow like thousands of stars and suns, “if you won’t surrender, I’ll have to make it hurt. I don’t want you to suffer needlessly.”

“What?” Leia asks flatly, staring at the display.

“Hush,” Ahsoka stands with her, placing a hand on her shoulder, “let him do it.”

Leia purses her lips and falls silent.

The Emperor chokes from laughing at Luke. “I will never surrender.”

A final bolt of lightning, an act of defiance, hits Darth Vader directly in the chest plate. He crashes like a broken toy.

“That’s too bad,” Luke chirps at the Emperor, “I have no other choice.” 

Luke stands before the Emperor, who hisses on his throne, and places his fingertips on Palpatine’s temples.

The Emperor screams as the charged supernova enters his synapses. It buzzes throughout his veins, streaming throughout his tar-black aura. 

The energy explodes, a burst of dazzling Light enveloping him. Everyone averts their eyes to the unfiltered power spilling over like a dam flooding the throne room. 

Moments pass as slowly and as quickly as time itself.

When the blinding Light finally fades, there is no trace of the Emperor in the Force. All that remains is his tattered black cloak lying across his throne.

And Luke falls, body crumpling onto the marble floor unceremoniously.

“No,” Leia exhales, rushing and gathering his head in her lap. “Don’t you dare!”

Ahsoka kneels and touches his pale forehead with two fingers. “He is weak, but he will wake,” she reports.

A loud exhale through a broken vocoder spurs Ahsoka to walk towards where Vader fell. Leia remains with her brother while Ahsoka kneels beside Vader.

“Ahsoka,” Vader says with difficulty, “I am sorry. S-So sorry. All the pain I’ve caused.”

Ahsoka winces. “You did horrible things, that is true, but you came back. I’m glad you’re here, Anakin.”

“Please,” he rasps, “p-please get them out of here. Get my children out of here.”

“I will,” Ahsoka promises.

“Thank you,” Vader says, “thank y-you, Ahsoka.”

His breathing mask gasps, then nothing.

It hits her in a swell of emotion. Before she knows it, she has tears in her eyes. She squeezes her eyes shut, forcing them down her cheeks.

The entire station quakes.

Ahsoka is jolted to reality, and she swipes tears away. “Leia! Help me with Luke!”

-

Ahsoka only has time to rescue the mask. She takes it with her, and Leia flies them away in time. The Death Star explosion rockets them forward, towards the surface of Endor.

Ahsoka stares at the mask. Stares at the mask that made her Master into a murderer.

If she can’t recover the body, the least she can do is burn the mask. But it can wait.

Day breaks as the shuttle lands a half-mile from the village. Luke has not awakened.

Leia climbs out of the cockpit as the shuttle’s engines are cut. She glances worriedly at Ahsoka, at her holding the mask.

“Do you want to burn it?” Leia asks.

Ahsoka nods once.

Leia kneels beside Luke, who lays in a blanket on the shuttle floor. He is pale, but sleeping peacefully. “How do we wake him up?”

Ahsoka purses her lips for a moment, leaving the mask on the ground.

She places two fingers to his forehead, but can not discern how to jerk him into consciousness. His body put itself into a comatose state.

Perhaps…

“Let’s make a fairytale,” Ahsoka decides.

Leia catches her thought process. “Alright.”

Ahsoka bridal carries Luke with all the strength she has left, Leia guiding them to the village.

As they break the tree line, everyone gathers and stands mutely. The entire Rebellion is there, all the people Ahsoka knows, as well as an army of those she doesn’t.

There is a collective gasp at Luke’s condition, and the Ewoks emot noises of despair.

The scene parts for Ezra, who approaches like a mystical god, exactly the kind Ahsoka read stories about as a child on Shili.

Ezra is strikingly beautiful as he advances, wearing the same beige outfit from the night before, the difference being the dampened glow to his copper skin and the virgin wildflowers braided into his hair like a crown.

Beautiful, yet so, so sad.

Ahsoka lays Luke down on a flower patch, where Ezra must have found his wildflowers. Everyone watches paces away, no one breaking the spell of choking silence.

Ezra crouches beside his husband, examining his aura. “His Light is fading.”

“You need to do a transfer to stabilize him,” Ahsoka murmurs.

Ezra stares at her. “Really, ‘Soka?”

Ahsoka shares an amused look with Leia, who watches a bound away.

Ezra studies Luke’s face, hand caressing his jawline, leans down, and closes his eyes. He kisses Luke fearlessly, and waits three beats for a response.

Luke breathes into Ezra, his eyes fluttering open. Ezra nudges away, but stays very close. Less than an inch apart.

“Did we win?” Luke rasps, his aura stabilizing and returning to full brightness.

Ezra refrains from smacking Luke’s side for making him worry. He smiles instead.

“Yes,” Ezra breathes, “we won.”

The entire village exhales, and they break out into applause. Luke and Ezra do not hear it, absorbed in another kiss.


	20. Age 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve gotten you in trouble with my strong opinions,” Ezra says, “remember the youth speech? Your Senate proposals?”
> 
> Luke snickers. “You’ve written some of my best lines. Read it and be honest. I encourage it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, commenting, and finally convincing me to update my Tumblr blog! I consider this final chapter a soft epilogue, since I am already working on a sequel, “Daughter of Strife and Serendipity.” If I’m going to mess with the OT, I might as well rewrite the sequels based in this AU too.
> 
> I’ll be taking a quick hiatus, but I will be posting a HanLeia angst fic and a Skybridger oneshot that’s been sitting in my drafts. I should be back with the sequel in 3 weeks!
> 
> Follow my Tumblr @toomanyfandoms99-ao3 if you want updates on my writing progress. I will be tagging related posts with “inspiration for daughter of strife and serendipity” if you want to guess what I’m writing about for the sequel.

Ezra divides sections at the back of Luke’s hair. His husband sits on an ottoman in the bathroom while Ezra stands behind him. Luke perches calmly as he observes Ezra in the mirror forming tight braids in his husband’s hair.

Luke is nervous about making his first public appearance since the Senate meeting when he was eighteen. The Rebellion adores him as their leader, but Luke successfully avoided making the holo news in the years he was in hiding.

It was Pooja that convinced Luke to ease his way back into politics. Now that the couple is officially retired from active duty in the New New Republic, Pooja advised Luke to focus on the only home he has left: Naboo.

Pooja generously gave the couple the Naberrie’s Lake Country property, Varykino. When the Naberries discovered Ezra was pregnant, they instantly fawned over the couple and offered their help whenever needed. Ezra and Luke did not move into Varykino, though, until Ezra was in the final stages of his pregnancy.

The medical droid assured them that their baby would be born within a month. That is why Luke remains so nervous about restarting his career so close to their baby’s birth. 

‘As long as you return to us, you can do this for yourself,’ Ezra said.

‘What about you?’ Luke countered. ‘You deserve to have something for yourself too.’

Ezra would palm his stomach and declare, ‘for now, this is what I want.’

Luke would proceed to melt into him, though he knows Ezra might change his mind in a few years. 

Someone has to help Leia, Ahsoka, and Kanan with the Lothal Temple…

Ezra finishes combining two braids into one. He drops his handiwork, and Luke holds up his hand. Ezra plucks flame lily pins from his fingers and seeks out stray hairs. He focuses intently as he clips in the adornments.

After the final pin is secured, a resounding kick to Ezra’s lower stomach causes him to swallow thickly. He rubs the spot and murmurs, “not now, honey.”

Luke spins on the ottoman and stares up at Ezra with knee-jerk concern. “Are you alright?”

“Just a kick,” Ezra says, removing his hand from his protruding stomach.

Luke frowns and places his hand on the spot Ezra’s hand vacated. He rubs and murmurs, “be good for Papa, okay?”

Ezra snorts. “That only worked once.”

“She’s listening,” Luke emphasizes. 

He leans forward and kisses Ezra’s stomach, which always, always makes Ezra’s knees weak.

“Right, honey?” Luke whispers into his stomach. “You’re listening, right?”

Ezra feels a tiny palm touch the place where Luke kissed his stomach. Luke beams.

“Yes,” Luke coos, “she is.”

Ezra rolls his eyes; Luke is too cute, though he’ll never admit it. “You’re ready. Just the tie left.”

Luke hesitantly spins back around, rising in front of the mirror. He chose gray slacks and a thin powder blue dress shirt to keep it simple. His love for flashy outfits does not trump his need to be taken seriously for his words.

After a beat of considering himself, Luke turns and hands Ezra the tie. Ezra casts the fabric around Luke’s neck and deftly works at a traditional knot. Tying ties is one of the many new things Ezra learned in his free time at the Lake Country house. Ezra can sew clothes, complete elaborate Nubian hairstyles, and knit his husband a scarf. He can grow herbs on the kitchen windowsill and garnish food to perfection. He can fix basic plumbing issues and rewire Threepio in cases of emergency. 

Ezra does it all happily, because this is the simple life he has wanted for years.

Ezra smooths out the tie, realizing Luke has been staring at him the whole time. “Hm?”

“You’re a wonder,” Luke smiles with his whole body and soul, “you know that?”

Ezra bats his lashes. “I do.”

Luke hums, eyes sparkling through his mirror reflection. “I want you to look at my speech before Pooja picks me up.”

Ezra wavers.

“Come on,” Luke says, guiding Ezra by the hand to the cozy sitting room.

Ezra is ushered into a couch cushion, and Luke plucks a datapad from a caf table. He opens the document and hands it to Ezra.

“I’ve gotten you in trouble with my strong opinions,” Ezra says, “remember the youth speech? Your Senate proposals?”

Luke snickers. “You’ve written some of my best lines. Read it and be honest. I encourage it.”

Ezra hesitantly glosses over the speech. It is meant to reintroduce Luke to the public eye, speak of his struggles and how he pledges to aid Naboo. Spending time with Pooja was already gaining Luke favor.

He rereads the speech, this time with a critical eye. Luke sinks into the couch and does not interrupt. Luke is rarely nervous about his writings. It is every other aspect of being a politician that worries him.

Luke, at his core, was not built for the roles he was meant to inhabit; Luke has expressed as much willingly. It is a job that requires great strength and perseverance, which Luke has in spades.

And despite Luke’s nerves, he is not as worried as he used to be when addressing crowds. Ezra attributes it to the lack of life-threatening stakes if Luke makes a mistake.

A part of it could also be because they are allowed to be open and radiant as a couple. A remarriage with a traditional ceremony to celebrate their five-year anniversary, when Ezra was five months pregnant and developing a roundness to his once-chiseled stomach, further solidified their joy when discussing their relationship. 

Ezra smiles at the memories of their second marriage officiated by an overly-enthusiastic Mon. The entire Rebellion and extended family was in attendance. Luke wore a white suit to gain the attention of the fashion holozines, and Ezra wore all black to appease his husband, who said he looks best in darker hues.

During the speaking of their vows, which they kept light and humorous, Luke knelt and, with all the love contained in his being transferred to his eyes and his voice, promised he would do anything for their unborn daughter.

As pregnancy announcements went, it was certainly the most dramatic delivery ever spoken by Luke Organa, the most dramatic man Ezra has ever known. The collective gasps and exclamations were unforgettable, and Ezra amusedly allowed his husband the chance to thrust them into the most coveted of spotlights.

Ezra lifts his head from the datapad, having taken too long to reply in his musings. “You are using passive voice again.”

“Where?” Luke asks, brushing their shoulders together and studying the speech.

“When you discuss policies you will help implement to the Nubian people,” Ezra says, “so paragraphs nine and ten. You must be sure of yourself. You must assure them these policies will work, since you are already at a level of distrust as a stranger to these people.”

“Yes,” Luke frowns, “you’re right. See? I need you.”

Ezra opens the editing function and types out synonyms that aren’t too commanding. Luke must gain trust, not garner hatred. Ezra understands these nuances are delicate.

Luke watches in comfortable silence as Ezra works. The front door chimes.

“Threepio!” Luke chirps.

“I will answer that, Master Luke.” The golden protocol droid’s voice carries from two rooms away, his shuffling feet clattering against the tile.

Ezra hands Luke the datapad back a moment later. Threepio greets the guests and ushers them towards the sitting room.

“Read this on the way over,” Ezra murmurs into Luke’s cheek. “The second you start to worry, I want you to think of me, the conviction in my eyes.”

Luke swallows a lump in his throat. Ezra studies the flecks of gold and gray in Luke’s blue eyes, the cerulean ring around his widened pupils. Luke stares into Ezra’s own eyes, at the steadiness in them, and nods.

“Have we disrupted a staring contest?” Pooja trills, sweeping into the sitting room in a finely-cut navy gown. Her daughter, Lola, trails behind in a bold orange frock, smirking at the couple.

“We’ve disrupted something far worse,” Ryoo leans by the archway in a glittering rose gold pouf dress, “an eye lovemaking session.”

Luke’s cheeks burn red, and Ezra says smoothly, “I was simply correcting his many speechwriting errors.”

Luke gapes like a guppy. “How dare you sell me out?!” He frowns petulantly at Pooja. “He over-exaggerates.”

“I’m sure,” Ryoo says amusedly. She winks at Ezra, and he smiles back.

He adores the Naberries. Ryoo, the devious woman, is his favorite.

Luke regains his wits, a flattering pink blush coloring his cheeks. He rises from the couch and exerts every ounce of princeliness to straighten his posture.

“Bye, traitor,” Luke chimes to Ezra, clutching his datapad over his chest, “thanks for your help.”

Ezra does a royal wave with a sweet smile. “Bye, darling.”

Luke is ushered away with the women. The front door is opened and shut by a fussy Threepio.

He curls up on the couch with multiple blankets and waits for the holo news to report the speech. He flicks through story after story in boredom, but Luke soon flashes onto the holo.

Ezra listens to his speech read with perfect timing and conviction by Luke. He receives immense applause.

Luke ensures Ezra knows that night just how much of that applause was Ezra’s to claim.

-

Varykino becomes a full house when Ezra is nearing his due date. The visitors are constant.

The first wave of guests arrives when Ezra is in the kitchen frying eggs. One of his most frequent cravings requires putting copious amounts of various seasonings on eggs. 

As he flips two eggs onto a plate, digging through the herbs and spices rack, he hears an excited, “big brother!”

Ezra spins as Poe runs to him, attaching himself to Ezra’s legs. “Oh!” Ezra laughs, ruffling the boy’s wild hair. “How are you, honey?”

“Gooood,” Poe draws out, trying to look up at Ezra past his baby bump. “You’re bigger.”

“Poe,” Shara says, facepalming exasperatedly. Kes winces beside her as they reach the kitchen counter.

Ezra laughs. “Yes I am. Are you ready for a baby girl?”

“Yeahhhh,” Poe makes a face, “Jacen’s smelly.”

“You’re just very different boys.”

Shara shoots Ezra a look. “Sorry about Poe. He’s going through a phase where he says what he wants.”

“Oh, no need to apologize,” Ezra chimes, “of course I’m bigger. This baby’s coming within the week.”

Poe scampers over to Kes, who places a hand on his shoulder. Kes prompts the boy, “wasn’t there a gift you had for Ezra?”

“Oh!” Poe exclaims, hopping away to the foyer for a moment.

Ezra arches a brow at Shara and Kes, but neither give him an indication of what’s happening.

Poe runs back inside the kitchen, the gray blanket flitting like a cape behind him. He halts a step away from Ezra and drapes the blanket on Ezra’s stomach.

“This is for the baby,” Poe declares.

Ezra places a hand on the blanket while his eyes prickle with wetness. “I gave it to you, honey. You don’t have to give it back.”

Poe’s brown eyes fill with determination. “I want the baby to have it.”

Ezra blinks to disperse moisture in his eyelids. “Oh,” he murmurs, absently folding the blanket, then glancing back down at the boy, “that’s very kind of you, Poe.” He sniffles and ruffles Poe’s thick messy hair. “Thank you very much, honey.”

Ezra places the folded blanket on the counter and clears his throat to dispel a lump forming in his throat. He refuses to break down sobbing to appease his hormones. Poe hugs his legs for a brief moment, then pads over to Kes.

Smiling at the parents, Ezra returns to plucking out spices. He places them in a line on the counter.

“Okay,” Shara studies the bottles, “spicy eggs is an interesting one.”

“Ah,” Ezra opens bottles and shakes them on his eggs, “it’s her favorite. I’ve invented something promising here.”

A well-timed kick is placed near Ezra’s ribs, and he nearly drops a spice bottle. He clutches it tighter and places it down gently. He breathes to numb the pain.

“Kick?” Shara prompts.

Ezra exhales through his mouth. “That was a good one.”

Shara proceeds to discuss what it was like being pregnant with Poe, while Kes and Poe decide to make seasoned eggs of their own to try.

The next to arrive, when Ezra was waiting for Luke’s latest holo speech, is Sabine holding Jacen on her hip. Sabine’s hair had grown into a long braid, pink and purple hair dye fanning downwards. Jacen’s green hair is a mess, freckles dotting his cherubic face as he exclaims a cheery hello.

Ezra smiles, offering up a portion of his couch blanket. “Hey, honey. Hey, Sabine. You’re just in time.”

Sabine drops Jacen onto the couch, and he side-hugs Ezra. 

“There’s a baby in there?!” Jacen exclaims incredulously, staring at his stomach.

“There sure is.”

“Cool!”

Sabine sits smoothly on the opposite side of the couch. She gathers her legs to her chest while Jacen squirms between them. Sabine observes the holo screen and asks, “what are we waiting for?”

The screen shows Luke, and Ezra chimes, “that.”

Jacen falls politely silent as Ezra listens, Sabine studying his speech. When Luke blinks back off, she asks, “was that one of yours?”

“I help.”

Zeb enters alongside Kanan and Hera. “Hey, kid,” Zeb says.

“We were listening to Luke,” Kanan says, Hera guiding him into a lounge chair. “I caught some of your words in there.”

“Hah,” Ezra says, smiling proudly, “yes.”

Jacen snatches the navy blanket, and Ezra snickers. “You can have it for being quiet,” he decides.

“Was he quiet?” Hera peers over at her son. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“We need to bring him around to you more often.”

Ezra agrees, and the members of the Ghost sit around with him watching the news. Luke returns an hour later, the Naberries ushering him into the sitting room.

Luke’s outfit is glamorous, a maroon cape with glittering gold etchings framing a high-collared pearl tunic and pants. Pooja insisted on Nubian ceremonial paint, placing a red stripe down Luke’s chin to indicate loyalty. His golden hair is gathered into a bun, floral pins borrowed from Lola securing Luke’s bangs.

Jacen hops off the couch, the blanket half-dangling from the cushion. “LUUUUKE!”

Luke barely has time to react before Jacen is leaping, Luke catching him before he falls. “Oh! Jace!” He lifts up the boy, who instantly plucks a floral pin out of Luke’s hair. “Hello, dear.” A section of hair frames Luke’s cheek attractively. “How’s it going?”

“Gooood,” Jacen draws out again. He examines the pin in his fingers, the painted metal glinting. “Pretty.”

“Put it back now, Jacen,” Hera chides.

“He’s fine,” Luke laughs, but Jacen does as his mother asks, placing the pin back in Luke’s hair, “how are you all?”

“Good, thank you,” Hera says calmly.

Luke motions to the three Naberrie women in formal wear, lingering by an archway. “These are my cousins, Pooja, Ryoo, and Lola, from my mother’s side. It’s their house. Naberries, this is the crew of the Ghost, a part of Ezra’s family.”

“Oh,” Hera instantly goes to greet the women, “thank you for letting us all stay.”

“Of course,” Pooja smiles, “we’re all family.”

Hera introduces her crew, and Luke drops Jacen back onto the vacant couch. Luke kisses Ezra’s cheek and Jacen verbalizes an “ew.”

The next morning, Ahsoka arrives on her shuttle bearing surprise guests.

Ezra was washing empty plates after having spicy eggs for breakfast, a craving which everyone enjoyed eating with him. Luke is brushing shoulders with him purposefully as he dried the plates.

The dining room became boisterous as Ahsoka declared, “the party has arrived!”

Luke whirls around and beams. A baby punch to Ezra’s upper stomach has him queasy, so he grips the edge of the sink.

Luke’s hand ghosts his arm and squeezes in comfort as he says, “the whole childhood squad is here!”

Ezra breathes to dissipate the bout of pain and turns. Ahsoka, Raymus, Wedge, Winter, and Evaan enter the kitchen. Everyone else who arrived the previous day surveys the third wave of relatives. 

Ezra is wrapped in side hugs and cheek kisses and warm greetings on how radiant he looks while pregnant.

Introductions were made as Luke took the brunt of dishwashing. He murmurs to Ezra, “go sit, you’re looking pale.”

Begrudgingly, Ezra follows the advice. He receives plenty of company as he curls up in a blanket and does his meditative breathing exercises.

That afternoon, as everyone explores Varykino, Ezra sits on the backyard porch, splayed out comfortably on a cushioned patio chair. He sips a fruit shake that the baby is fond of, basking in the summer sun. He was given this short time alone after he expressed having a headache. 

That, and Ahsoka can be scary when protecting ‘her boys.’

A two-tone binary whirr, though, has Ezra glancing over to the sliding door.

Clad in purple-dyed robes, hair in golden-clasped braids, is Leia. She steps out onto the terrace, squinting her eyes despite the sun roof. Artoo beeps as he halts near Ezra’s chair, Han stepping to shadow Leia’s form.

“So you’re, like,” Leia says, “super pregnant.”

Ezra throws his head back and laughs. “Yes,” he inhales sharply, unable to contain his grin, “I’m indeed ‘super pregnant.’”

“Does it hurt?” Han wonders, studying Ezra’s stomach.

“Yeah,” Ezra nods, sipping the last of his fruit shake, “I won’t lie.”

Leia makes a face. “That’s no fun. I’m rethinking my positive stance on childbearing.”

Before Han could frown, Ezra says, “I wouldn’t be too hasty. For example,” he gestures to his face, “I look great. I mean, have you ever seen skin this luminous? I think not.”

Han snickers, and Leia admits, “you do look fucking incredible.”

“Aw, thanks,” Ezra smiles crookedly, “how’s it going on Lothal?”

“Slower than expected,” Leia says with a shrug.

Luke sticks his head outside and smiles apologetically at Ezra. “Can you read a draft real quick?”

“Okay,” Ezra says, standing so fluidly that Leia remarks on his grace.

It is after another day of bliss in Varykino that it happens. Ezra had washed himself in the bathtub, and when he rose, he left more water than expected.

Ezra grabs the edge of the fresher curtain, and he looks down dazedly.

It is definitely his water that just broke.

“Luke,” Ezra breathes, the Force broadcasting his warning as a kick hits his lower stomach.

Ezra exhales slowly, using the Force to bring a long shirt into his free hand. With the other gripping the fresher curtain, he roughly smooths out the garment over his torso, the hem reaching his mid-thigh.

Luke enters with the medical droid, and Ezra allows himself to be gathered into his husband’s embrace. Another kick nearly severs Ezra’s rib, and he coughs as Luke carries him to the bed.

Ezra is laid down with immense care. He focuses on the medical droid’s instructions as he breathes.

————

Luke shoulders the weight as best as he can. His baby is so strong in the Force, even before being born, that Luke can feel the pain too. He takes on some of Ezra’s pain willingly. Anything to help his husband give birth with a little less strain on his muscles.

Luke is on the bed right beside Ezra, their heads sharing the same propped pillows. Ezra’s hands squeeze Luke’s so hard that his bones might be broken, but he grits his teeth and bears it.

Ezra hardly voices a shout, but Luke thinks he cracked some teeth with how hard he pressed them together. Ezra focuses on his breathing and basking in Luke’s aura, drawing comfort from his Light.

The medical droid’s instructions filter in one damaged ear while Luke verbalizes encouragement into Ezra’s temple.

“You’re almost there, sweetheart,” Luke whispers, heart racing as Ezra’s pain enters him like a morphine drip, “almost there.”

Ezra pushes and pushes. Time becomes slow and fast at the same time. A layer of sweat soon permeates them both, and Luke is sure he soaked through his blue shirt. Hair mats on one cheek, and Ezra is in much the same predicament.

“Push again,” the droid says, “now.”

Ezra shuts his eyes and pushes, tears slipping down his cheeks. He cries and breathes and clenches his jaw.

And he continues. Every time Luke thinks Ezra will give up, make it stop for a moment, Ezra continues to push.

“You’re magnificent,” Luke breathes, bringing Ezra’s hands to his lap, “keep going, love.”

“One more push,” the droid instructs, “now.”

Ezra braces himself and finally screams, hair matted and body sweating and tears flowing.

The scream dies, and Ezra breathes shakily, head lolling onto Luke’s shoulder. He swallows a gulp of air and exhales deeply. 

There is a cry.

Luke and Ezra stare dumbly as the droid holds a baby plucked from between Ezra’s legs. It is awash in blood, and it cries, and its little arms move around as if batting away something.

Luke meets Ezra’s eyes. He begins to cry. 

Ezra continues crying too, holding Luke as their baby is cleaned.

“Oh,” Ezra laughs through his tears, “oh, Luke. We did it.”

“You did it,” Luke says thickly, blinking the wetness from his vision. 

“We,” Ezra corrects, “we shouldered the pain together.”

Luke brings their foreheads together. They sniffle and smile and smell of sweat, but Luke thinks it is perfect. Ezra smiles wobbly, and Luke brushes their lips together lightly.

The medical droid steps towards the bed, and the couple is transfixed.

“A healthy girl,” the droid announces.

The baby, swaddled in Ezra’s gray blanket, is placed in Ezra’s arms, and he adjusts to cradle her comfortably. He stifles a sob as his gaze affixes upon their daughter for the first time.

Luke studies their little girl: her skin is caramel, the perfect combination between tan and copper; her tuft of hair is golden brown, depending on how the light reflects it; her eyes contain every expanse of blue possible, from oceans to moonlight; her face is soft and round, her button nose is absolutely precious, and her mouth is in the shape of an archer’s bow; her grabby hands and fidgeting feet, poking out from the blanket, are a wonder to behold.

She stares at them both, as if committing every detail of their faces to memory.

“Hi, honey,” Ezra whispers, “I’m your Papa, and you’re completely perfect.”

“She is,” Luke murmurs, still awestruck that their baby is here and tangible and observing them.

“This is your Dada,” Ezra says to the girl, and her gaze studies Luke intently. Ezra’s eyes widen. “This baby is already a genius.”

Luke smiles sweetly. “Hi, baby girl. It’s Dada.”

Ezra shifts to offer him the baby. Luke cradles her, studying her as she studies him.

“None of the names fit,” Luke murmurs contemplatively. “None of our arguments on names matter anymore.”

“She reminds me of you.”

“She’s more like you, I think. The way she stares at me.”

Ezra snorts at the remark. “She’s bright in the Force,” he offers.

And he gasps.

And he grins mischievously at Luke.

“Hm,” Ezra says, “I have just the name.”

“Will we get to discuss this?” Luke asks suspiciously.

Ezra smirks and shakes his head. “You’re going to love it, I promise.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” Luke narrows his eyes, “so please tell me.”

“I need a name for the birth certificate,” the medical droid chimes, allowing the couple this time with their baby uninterrupted.

Ezra beams and announces, “her name is Rey. Spelled R-E-Y.”

Luke’s mouth falls open. He hates to admit it, but-

“No need to thank me,” Ezra says cheekily.

Luke’s mouth clamps shut. It is perfect. Rey for a ray of Light. A feminine form of the sun.

Luke smiles at Rey.

“Rey Organa-Bridger,” the medical droid confirms.

“Yes,” they say in unison.

-

As Ezra sleeps better than he has in years, Luke holds their crying baby in his arms. He paces in a steady back-and-forth across their panoramic bedroom window. Only a small section of the curtain is left open to reflect dazzling stars in the midnight sky.

Luke whispers an Alderaanian lullaby to Rey, bouncing her legs as her head lolls over his shoulder. Luke uses his aura to calm Rey, and her crying eventually becomes a restless murmur.

Nearly the entire day had gone by with Ezra in labor. The few hours left in the night were spent in each other’s arms, listening to Rey coo.

Ezra finally collapsed into their changed bedsheets in exhaustion; nothing can wake him, and Luke is glad of it.

He soothed Rey to sleep after midnight, and placed her in the crib beside their bed. Luke swaddles her in the gray blanket, observing her for a moment as she dozes. He is certain that life cannot get better than this.

He climbs under the covers silently, flicking off the lights and crashing out beside Ezra.

-

Luke rocks their baby as Ezra steps out of the fresher. He wears an airy cerulean shirt and stretch pants, raven hair shiny and free.

“You were in there a while,” Luke observes, “is everything okay?”

“I was just...looking at myself. My new body,” Ezra frowns, “as weird as that sounds to say aloud.”

“Do you like it?”

Ezra shrugs. “It’ll take a while to get used to having massive thighs and a squishy stomach, but it’s what I’ve got now.”

Ezra peers down at Rey, who offers Ezra an arm. 

He laughs brightly. “Hi, honey.” Ezra rubs his thumb on Rey’s tiny hand. “You’re much happier today, huh?”

Rey’s wide blue eyes study Ezra’s smile, twinkling bright as her arm settles on the blanket. Luke offers her up to Ezra, and he cradles her gently.

“Ready to meet your big happy family?” Ezra asks her. “Hm?”

Rey’s eyes become eager as Ezra bounces her a little to secure her in his hold.

“She’s ready,” Ezra coos, “is my husband ready?”

Luke finds he is in a trance, and has been since Ezra entered their bedroom. Something about the image before him gives him pause, and time becomes slow and dazed.

Ezra Bridger grows more beautiful every day. Luke is sure of it.

“Hm?” Ezra furrows his brows, turning to observe Luke. “Hello?”

Luke smiles brightly. “Have I told you today that I love you very much?”

Ezra blinks. “No,” he strides over to Luke, tipping his head down with a confident gaze, “you haven’t.”

Rey between their bodies, Luke murmurs, “well, I love you very, very much, Ezra Bridger.”

Ezra’s lashes flutter attractively as he says, “I love you too, Luke Organa.” 

He leans down, managing to balance Rey, and kisses Luke’s forehead. Luke tips his head up and chases Ezra’s lips in return. 

Their lips catch briefly, and Ezra smothers a chuckle when he steps back. “So sly.”

Luke hums. “I’m positive your ‘massive thighs and squishy stomach’ are cute, for the record.”

Ezra flushes and looks at Rey. “We’ve been keeping our audience waiting for long enough, I think.”

Luke nods. It is all Ezra needs to leave the confines of their bedroom.

They gathered in the dining room. Luke sees some new faces have arrived: Jobal, Ruwee, Sola, Lando, Aphra, Rex, Mon, and Sabé, who revealed her identity to Luke and Leia months earlier and offered her assistance wherever needed.

Luke studies the room: his Alderaanian family and his Naboo family and his Rebellion family and his blood family and his found family by marriage. All mingling together after breakfast is cleared away.

Luke has never seen his entire family, as well as Ezra’s, in one place before. It is jarring but welcomed.

The couple stands in the archway, taking it in for a few beats. Ezra holds a swaddled Rey, Luke beside them. Ezra catches Luke staring and sends him a quick smile.

It is Ezra that steps forward, Ezra that boldly enters the sea of people. Luke follows him after a beat, and he hears several of the women gasp at their arrival into the scene.

Everyone swivels their heads, and the couple is enveloped by warmth and love.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are welcomed and appreciated!


End file.
